I Didn't Do All I've Done for You
by magical-notes
Summary: White Collar adaptation. When Mistoffelees makes a work release deal with the FBI to solve white collar crimes for them instead of staying in prison, he initially just wants to find his lover again. Life doesn't quite work out that way however.
1. He Saw Us Coming

The short man moved quickly, glancing over his shoulders several times at the sound of doors closing and opening and footsteps. He was snipping off the beard growing on his face over a toilet bowl, orange jumpsuit marking his status as a prisoner. Once his beard was as down he shaved it off with a disposable razor that had once seen better days.

Once his face was clear, he moved to the zip lock bags stashed in the toilet, pulling out shoes and a uniform. He changed quickly before moving quickly out the door of the employees only bathroom. A buzz sounded, signaling the change of guards shift. With his longish black hair slicked back and uniform, the man moved smoothly through the halls, the guards paying him no attention other than nodding at him. A couple prisoners did a double take but one just smiled before turning back to what he was doing.

As the man moved, he swiped a card from one of the guards, sliding it through the correct reader to open the gate. One of the guards caught the door and the man tensed, but the guard only smiled him through.

Returning the smile he breezed through the parking lot, making his way over to a maintenance van, hotwiring it and pulling away from the prison, dropping the stolen card in the parking lot.

Looking through the dash, he pulled out three dollar bills and smiled. A short while later, he used the three dollars to buy a yellow wind breaker, which when he removed the uniform jacket made him look like any other airport shuttle employee. With that alias, he picked up a hundred dollar bill and a convertible black car.

w-w-w-w

Agent Coricopat Zimmerman of the FBI's white collar crimes unit stood inside a bank, on edge as a technician worked to open a particular box in the safe. He kept his eyes on a screen of the tumblers as the tech reported back, "Drop three. Drop two. Drop four."

The man reached for the handle just as Coricopat processed the numbers, "No, wait!" The man didn't hear him and the safe deposit box exploded, self destructing anything inside of it.

Coughing, agent Macavity Hollister looked up. "What the hell just happened?" he snapped, looking over his computer screen and trying to wipe the dust off it.

The tech came out of the safe looking a bit the worse for the wear. Coricopat waved a hand to clear some of the dust away from his face, trying to speak without coughing, "What happened is we just wasted ten thousand man hours to get this close to the Dutchman and the evidence just blew up!"

Bombalurina coughed, shaking her head as Macavity frowned. "How'd you know it was gonna do that?"

"Three two four." He answered, "Check your phones, what's it spell?"

"FBI," Mac sighed. "Damnit. He saw us coming."

"You think?" He shook his head and pulled a red fiber off of his jacket, "Anyone know what this is? Anyone? Nobody. Great...And how many of you went to Harvard?" He knew he shouldn't' be lashing out at the agents, but he felt his temper spike with a strong dose of irritation as most of those present raised their hands, "Don't raise your hands. Just don't. It was a rhetorical question."

Bombalurina frowned down at her phone, stepping outside of the room as Macavity threw his headphone down. Coricopat saw her go and arched a brow. Handing the fiber off to one of the agents to deal with he followed Bombalurina out, "Bomba? What's going on?"

She looked over at him, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. "Mistoffelees Caffrey just escaped," she said.

He blinked at her, "_What_?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Time to get back to the office."

"I'll tell Mac to take care of getting this packed up, and then I'll head to the detention facility."

She nodded. "I'll tell Hollister. You go."

Her boss offered her a flickering smile and headed to his car, only barely following traffic laws to the prison. He got out and strode inside, greeting the U.S. Marshall already there.

"I appreciate your help," the Marshall said, approaching him. "You were the case agent on Caffrey before, right? The only guy to ever catch him."

"That's me," Coricopat agreed. "You must be Thompson."

The man nodded, not holding out a hand to shake. "Yeah. Now we're dealing with an unusual situation. Why would he run with only three months left on a four year sentence?"

"That is the question. Until I see a couple things I can't say without guessing in the dark. I assume we have access to his cell?"

"Of course," the marshal said, leading the way.

"So, Caffrey came out of the E-block staff bathroom dressed as a guard." Coricopat frowned, "Where did he get the uniform?" Violence would have been noticed, and it wasn't the other's style anyhow.

"Uniform supply company off the internet," the head of the prison replied and Thompson sighed.

"Alright, better question," the FBI agent glanced at the prison warden, "Where'd he get a credit card?"

The warden looked shamefaced a moment. "My wife's American Express."

"We're tracking the number," Thompson added.

That earned a long blink and it took all of Coricopat's willpower not to rip the warden a new one, "He won't use it again." They had reached the cell and he stepped inside. There were paintings on the walls and books stacked up on the bed. One wall was covered in neat rows of tally marks. "How did he get the key card he needed for the gate?"

"Picked one off a guard," he said with a shrug.

Coricopat stared at him for a minute before moving over and sitting down on the bed, going through the books scattered there, a manual on truck maintenance, well that explained the getaway vehicle...

"He walked out the front door and hotwired a maintenance truck," the warden explained.

"We found it abandoned near the airport," Thompson added. "We beefed up security, in case he tries to escape that way."

"You won't catch him using roadblocks and wanted posters," Coricopat responded, picking up a collection of Oscar Wilde's works, opening it to the middle where a flyer marked the last page read. The flyer featured two people in bright yellow jackets and bore the words "Executive Services Airport Parking". "He's not taking a plane anywhere." He set the book aside and turned to a cracked mirror and the razor that had been used that morning.

"He shaved his beard just before he escaped," the warden added.

The FBI agent looked up with a frown, speaking as he rose, "Mistoffelees doesn't have a beard."

The marshal and warden looked at each other. "He didn't," the warden said. "We photograph each inmate as they walk out of their cell every morning. You wanna check them out?"

"Yeah, that'd be useful. Might find us a trigger day."

The warden nodded, leaning the way. They reached the security room and backed up the daily photographs of Mistoffelees until he emerged clean-shaven from his cell. "There." Coricopat pointed, "That's the day he stopped shaving. I want to know _everything_ that happened that day. I assume you have the visitor logs?"

Nodding, the warden pulled out the visitor log, flipping to the day in question. "He had on visitor."

Coricopat leaned over to look, "Pouncival Moreau. Damn it."

"Who's she?" the marshal asked. "Sounds like you know her quite well."

"_He_," Coricopat answered, "is Mistoffelees Caffrey's significant other. Find me the security footage of that visit."

Thompson blinked at him as the warden ordered the footage to be brought. "There's not gonna be any audio on this," he warned.

"That's fine, I just want a read on the body language. My guess is our trigger's in that visit somewhere."

The warden nodded as the video started playing, He flipped through the log book. "That Moreau was like clockwork. Every week."

"Well, he wasn't thrilled about this visit," Coricopat murmured, watching the exchange on the monitors, trying to get a focus on Pouncival's lips, see if he could make out what he was saying.

"Can we get a lip reader in here?" Thompson asked.

"No need. I'll save you the trouble," the agent sighed. "'Adios, Misto. It's been real.'" He shook his head, gaze still focused on the screen, "He come back the next week?"

"Never again," the warden said, flipping through the book.

"That's it then. There's why Caffrey escaped with so little time left." He rose, "Let's find Pouncival."

w-w-w-w

Nightfall found police cars surrounding the black convertible that had been stolen that morning. Mistoffelees was sitting on a third floor apartment, turning a Bordeaux wine bottle in his hands. Other than him and the bottle the flat was empty.

Coricopat had insisted on going up alone. All but ordering everyone else present to stand down, he made his way up to the apartment, entering it. His gaze swept over the space, far emptier than he remembered it, "I see Pounce moved out." His voice turned softer when he saw the bottle, "He leave you a message in that?"

"The bottle is the message," the smaller man replied, not looking up. "Been a while."

"A few years, give or take," Coricopat agreed, coming around to the front of the pillar the other was leaning against. "I know your opinion of guns, but I have to ask, are you carrying?"

"No," Mistoffelees said, eyes flashing as he glanced up before looking back down. "You said it already, you know my opinion of guns."

"You know they asked me why you would pull such a boneheaded escape with just four months left to go." He looked around, shaking his head, "He moved fast, pulling his disappearing act. Trail ends here from the looks of things."

"Yeah, missed him by two days," Mistoffelees said, swallowing. "Only two days."

"Still, you managed to get out of a supermax in a month and a half. It was a close thing, and a damn impressive one."

"Didn't do me any good, did it?"

"You tried. It's a sight more than some would even think to do." His radio crackled and he picked it up, speaking into it, "Situation secure. Subject identified and unarmed."

Letting his head thud against the pillar, Mistoffelees sighed. "So, we're entirely surrounded then?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Marshalls called me in which means my agents as well." He glanced toward the bottle, "What was the message?"

"Good bye."

The agent sighed, shaking his head, "They're going to give you another four years for this, you know."

"I know," he said softly, carefully setting the bottle down and curling his knees up to chest.

Coricopat crouched down in front of the other man, "Is it worth it?"

Mistoffelees' eyes shut off and he rose. "That's the same suit you were wearing four years ago."

"Classics. You can't beat them, they never go out of style."

The short man rolled his eyes, looking it over and pausing. He reached out and plucked a small red fiber off his jacket. "Do you know what this is?"

"No," came the frank response. "And neither do any of the Harvard grads on my team. It's from the case I was supposed to be working before they yanked me to find you."

"Well, that's because Harvard grads aren't worth anything," Mistoffelees snorted and he paused as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He held the fiber in front of Coricopat's eyes. "I tell you what this is, what's it worth?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I tell you what this is, right now? Will you meet me in a week? In prison of course 'cause I don't think I'll be breaking out again like this."

"Meet you? For a fiber?" He considered for a long moment, finally nodding. The men could be heard at the hall outside the apartment.

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill," Mistoffelees said quickly. "Technically it's still classified," he dropped the fiber back on his shoulder. "Don't forget."

Coricopat plucked the fiber off his shoulder again, "One week."

Mistoffelees offered him a strained smile as the guard burst in. He held his hands up, turning. Coricopat stepped back, letting the marshals take over. He made his way down the stairs behind the others, strolling over the meet Macavity and Bombalurina where they were waiting.

"That was easier than last time," Bomba remarked.

"He wasn't broken last time," came the murmured response. "Come on, I have a report to make about that fiber we found."

"But we know nothing about it," Bomba started, "And what do you mean broken?"

"We know what it is," her boss replied, getting into the car. "And I mean The man who he was in love with left him while he was in prison and he missed him by two days. He is now going back to prison for four more years for no actual reason."

"Alright, then how do we know what it is?" Macavity asked when Bomba didn't say anything.

"If it pans out as what I think it is I owe Mistoffelees a prison visit." His two agents looked at each other before trailing after him.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the bureau almost a week later, meeting Bombalurina in the hall, "What's got the belt and suspender boys all riled up?"

"You," she said, handing him a file.

"Me?" He took the file, "What did I do now?"

"Your felon was right," she replied. "The stuff from the bank vault was the security fiber from the new Canadian hundred."

"Well, I'll be damned..."

"It's still classified, you know," she added. "You might have just caused an international incident."

"Well, this will be thrilling. I'd better set up to meet with Caffrey then."

"He deserves it," she said, giving him a long look.

"Deserves the meeting? Yes, that was the agreed price."

She considered him and nodded. "I'll call ahead to the prison then."

"Thanks. I'll be back soon."

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the room where he was going to meet Mistoffelees, looking up as the smaller man was brought in, "How'd you know?"

"It's what I do," Mistoffelees shrugged. "How'd the Canadian's like that?"

"They were very upset. Well, as upset as they get about anything." He sat down across from the other, "So I agreed to a meeting. Here I am."

"This guy you're chasing, the Dutchman," Mistoffelees said. "You call him that because he disappears like the ship right?"

"Something like that. How do you know anything about him?" Coricopat eyed Mistoffelees warily.

"You know my life," Mistoffelees shrugged. "I pay attention to yours."

"Fair enough. Why bring up the Dutchman?"

Mistoffelees wet his lips. "You got the cards I presume. I want to help you catch him."

"The cards were a nice touch." Coricopat shook his head, "And how are you supposed to do that? Become pen pals?"

Swallowing, as if preparing himself, Mistoffelees held out a file. "You can get me out of here. There's precedence. I can be released into your custody..."

The agent looked over the file, "Nice. This is very nice. But you're right, I do know you, and I know the second you're out, you'll take off after Pouncival."

"I'm not gonna run," Mistoffelees protested. "Besides, the conditions of this deal wouldn't allow me."

"And which condition is that?"

"GPS tracking anklet," Mistoffelees said, looking like each word hurt him.

Coricopat looked over the specs and shook his head, "The can be removed."

"Not these new ones," Mistoffelees protested.

"There's always a first time."

"There always is," Mistoffelees said, and he was looking more and more panicked the longer the conversation went. "Think about it. I know things none of your grads do, and I understand how the world works better than they could hope to. Where else would you find this information?"

Coricopat rose, still shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I just can't justify it."

For a moment the shorter man opened and closed his mouth, any suave charm he usually had deserting him. "I..."

The FBI agent looked like he genuinely regretted it, "It's just not something I can sell to my superiors." With those words he slipped out of the room, the metal door clanging behind him.

The prisoner rubbed his face with his hands, leaning back and looking at the file again.

w-w-w-w

That night found Mistoffelees sitting against the wall at the head of his bed. The room was stripped just about bare, only one book remaining and a pen. The guard walked by. "Lights out," he said.

"Midnight then?" the short man asked.

"Yeah, it's midnight," the guard said.

"Another minute?" Mistoffelees asked and the guard said the affirmative.

Mistoffelees nodded, standing. He moved over to the wall, picking up the pen and looking at his wall of tallies. Hand steady, he moved forward, adding another tally to the perfectly straight lines and stopping. It should have been the mark he never made-he should have been out that afternoon.

Suddenly his hand moved roughly across the marks, scribbling all over the wall and breaking the light bulb hanging near the wall. Hanging his head, he breathed for a moment, trying to control himself. Straightening, he ran a hand through his hair before turning to his bed, making a small, straight tally above the bed. For a long moment he just stared at it before letting his head thud against the wall.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat hesitated, still trying to decide whether he had time to step off the porch and retreat between the time he rang the bell and the time Macavity or Griddlebone answered the door. The answer was probably no, but he drew a deep breath and rang the doorbell regardless.

Almost instantly the door opened. "Cor," Mac said in some surprise. "What're you doing around here?"

"I...Grids called and invited me to dinner."

"Oh, right," Mac said, stepping back. "Come on in, come on in." He turned around. "Honey, can I have warning when my boss comes over for dinner?"

Grids came around the corner from the living room, "I've had it marked on the calendar, Mac."

"That means nothing and you know it," he said, scrunching up his face slightly. "Not that I ain't glad to see you," he added. "Take a seat, how're you doing then?"

Coricopat settled into a chair, shrugging slightly, "I had a meeting with Mistoffelees today."

Griddlebone started setting the table, listening in but not contributing yet.

"Is that a positive thing or a oh-god-where-are-the-drinks thing?"

"Maybe a bit of both," came the tired reply. "He wants to be remanded into my custody."

Mac blinked and went to fetch the wine bottle. "He wants... to work with the FBI? To get out of prison? That he should have been out of today?"

"That's about the sum of it. He's got good points, but I can't justify it."

"How is he doing?" Grids asked, setting a casserole on the trivet at the center of the table.

Coricopat shook his head, "Not well. At all."

Macavity moved around the table, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"You were working with me on the team that caught him, weren't you, Mac?"

"Yeah, course I was," Macavity said, taking a drink of wine with his free hand.

Grids tilted her head back to rest it against Mac's shoulder slightly as Coricopat considered his own glass of wine. "Do you remember the life in him? That...vivacity? It's...I think I saw it shrivel up and die this afternoon."

"It's been four years, there's no promise it died today," Mac replied, pulling Griddlebone just a little closer. "Why, are you feeling guilty for catching him again? Not like he was actually trying to run or anything."

"No, of course not. He all but turned himself in. It's just...I don't know. He was bordering on desperate. He'd done all the research. Hell, _he offered_ the GPS anklet as a way to keep track of him. I just...I don't know if it's an angle he's playing or if he genuinely wants out of there so desperately he'll work with us."

Mac considered, glancing down at his wife. "So why'd he break out then only to go back like that?" he asked. "If you think he has an angle about getting back into prison only to get out of it again."

Grids glanced up at her husband, "Why did he break out in the first place?"

"His boyfriend was leaving. Rather abruptly, from what I can tell," Coricopat answered.

"And it earned him...?"

"Four more years."

"And you think he's playing an angle," Mac snorted. "You can't believe he'd risk everything for love, do you? Cor, don't you remember when we caught him the first time?"

"Of course I remember that, Mac. And that's the thing. I'm worried that's the angle he's playing," Coricopat shook his head.

Grids glanced between them, "The angle of going back to prison for the person he loves? Am I missing something? It doesn't sound much like an angle."

"Cor," Mac shook his head. "How can he be playing an angle on this? His lover left him and he just got an extra four years. You said yourself he looked broken and desperate didn't you?"

"The same way he looked in the apartment when he realized that. What's to keep him from saying 'to hell with it', shorting or cutting the anklet and taking off to find Pouncival?"

Glancing down at Griddlebone, Macavity shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Didn't he send you cards every year?"

Coricopat pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yeah, every year on my birthday."

Grids shook her head, "Well, isn't it worth the risk? You've caught him before, you could do it again, especially with the warning you'd have with the anklet."

"You said it yourself, he's a lively sort of guy," Mac added, finishing off his glass of wine. "You really want to be in a position to help someone and not do it? Come on, let's eat."

"Not sure I'm especially-"

Griddlebone frowned, "Don't finish that sentence. You are going to eat _something_."

"You can for dinner," Mac backed her up and laughed. "Besides, you're skin and bones again."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll eat something. Thank you both for having me over."

Macavity laughed, pulling a chair out. "Anytime, within reasonable limits and with warning,"

Grids laughed, shortening the warning time to: "Just call ahead."

* * *

><p>If anyone's checking our profile, yeah, we really have too many stories going at once. But this one really came out of nowhere and jumped the queue really abruptly. As such, we really hope you enjoy it! This story reverses some roles we have, and it's pretty exciting over all.<p>

If you've enjoyed it, do drop us a line! Reviews mean a lot, especially when we're getting a story off the ground. Thank you so much for your time!


	2. All of Two Things Currently Mine

Coricopat leaned against his car a couple days later, his eyes focused on the prison gates as they opened to let Mistoffelees exit, "Let me see it."

The short man paused and pulled up his pant leg, revealing the tracker around his anklet. "There it is. Happy?"

The agent offered a half shrug and nodded slightly, "You're aware of how this works, right?"

"I'm in your custody, well, the FBI's but under your supervision and I'm stuck with this on my leg for the next four years. Missing anything?"

"Yeah, just one thing. If you run, and I catch you again, or anyone catches you, you're not back here for four years. This becomes your permanent home," Coricopat replied.

Mistoffelees' spine tensed obviously and he bit the inside of his mouth. "I know.

Coricopat looked him over, "You're going to be tempted to look for Pouncival. Just don't."

"I'll keep your warning in mind," Mistoffelees replied dryly. "But I already told you, that bottle meant goodbye."

"Alright." He nodded to the car, "Hop in. This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent."

Biting his lip again, the shorter man nodded, walking away from the prison and glancing back at it. "Where are we going then?"

"Your new home." Once they were in the car, Coricopat hesitated, reaching into the back seat and offering Mistoffelees a brown paper bag, "I managed to get this out of the evidence locker. It's not really needed after all."

For a moment the shorter considered him before taking the bag and blinking. "The bottle," he said, voice not revealing any emotion. "Why?" he asked, looking back up to him.

"Because it's the only thing he left you."

Swallowing, the art forger paused before nodding, cradling the bag against his chest. "Thank you."

"Of course," Coricopat pulled away from the prison, heading to the place they'd located for Mistoffelees on the stipend he had per month.

Entering the run down hotel Mistoffelees' entire posture changed again, tensing. "You can't be serious," he managed.

Coricopat was in the middle of speaking to the clerk, who handed him the key to one of the rooms. He turned to Mistoffelees holding out the key, "This is what your budget will pay for in NYC."

"How much is that budget?" Mistoffelees asked, looking around and shrinking back from the counter and walls and trying not to touch anything. "Besides, I think I'm going to get an STD just looking at some of this room."

"Seven hundred a month, same as it costs to house you inside. If you find something better for that, take it. At this point this is as good as it gets."

Mistoffelees took a deep breath. "What about clothes then? This is sorta my entire wardrobe here."

"You learn to like thrift stores. There's one at the end of the block."

The shorter man's mouth dropped and he snapped it shut again, the set of his shoulder's tight. "And do I have a budget for _that_ too?"

"Well, I'm hardly handing you a credit card." Coricopat fished out a couple of twenties, "See what you can find."

Taking a deep breath, Mistoffelees accepted that. He had asked for this after all, and he'd expected life wouldn't be nearly the same as when he was sitting on piles of stolen art and money, but he'd still expected something else. Something cleaner at the very least.

Reality had a way of sucking. "Alright. How far can I go?" He realized he was holding the bottle a little tightly and tried to relax his grip.

"Anywhere within two miles of where we're standing now." Coricopat shifted a stack of files from under his arm, depositing them in Mistoffelees' hands, "Your homework. I'll be back at 7 am."

Looking from the files back up to Coricopat, Mistoffelees bit back the first several things he planned to say. "I'll see you in the morning then."

The agent nodded once and left, heading back to work.

Looking around the lobby, Mistoffelees bit his lip hard before going up to the actual room. It was even worse than the lobby and he sat down on the bed for a long moment. Finally, he left the bottle on the cleanest surface he could find, and left the files on the bed. Heading out, he tried to avoid touching any of the walls, taking a deep breath when out on the street. Alright, he thought, squaring his shoulders. A thrift store. For a moment he considered using the twenties to buy a deck of cards and increase his income but he was supposed to do better now.

So instead he entered the thrift store.

About ten minutes after he arrived an older lady dressed in furs and wearing expensive jewelry entered, a couple of suit bags in her hands. She moved over to the clerk and set them on the counter, "I'd like to donate these."

The clerk blinked at the bags, going through then. Abandoning the rack of pants he was going through, Mistoffelees meandered over, considering the new clothing.

The woman glanced at Mistoffelees, and then back at the clerk who clearly didn't realize the value of what he was handling.

"Old suits mostly then?" the clerk asked and Mistoffelees was suddenly right there and looking over the counter, picking up a fedora that had fallen to the side of the pile.

The woman smiled thinly at that, "Mhm. That's what they all are."

"May I?" Mistoffelees asked and the clerk shrugged and handed over a jacket. Looking it over, a small smile appeared on Mistoffelees' face. "This is beautiful," he murmured and paused. "It's a Devore!"

That earned a genuine smile from the woman, "They belonged to my late husband, Skimble. And that Devore you're holding he won from Sy himself."

Mistoffelees' eyes widened. "Won it?" he almost squeaked.

"He beat him at a back door draw, it was quite the sight."

"Your husband played _poker_ with _Sy Devore_?" Mistoffelees managed.

"He certainly did. And so did I," Jenny added with a teasing grin.

"No," Mistoffelees said, hazel eyes going huge.

"Oh yes. They would let me sit in on a hand once in a while. I wasn't too bad either."

"Been a while since I had a hand of poker," Mistoffelees said, flipping the fedora onto his head. He'd missed hats too.

She smiled at him, "That looks fantastic on you. I'm glad to see you appreciate these. I did hope someone would. I have a whole closet full of them."

"A whole closet?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening as if he'd found a treasure trove. He took the jacket from earlier, shrugging into it. It fit his shoulders almost perfectly and he smiled.

"Well, it's more of a guest room. I only use it for storage anymore." She looked over the jacket, "The shoulders fit, and my guess is the waist of the slacks would as well. It would be simple enough to have everything hemmed." She got a wistful look in her eyes, "Skimble use to wear that one when we went dancing. The neighborhood was...much nicer then."

Something in Mistoffelees matched her wistful look. "Been a long time since I had any chances to go dancing," he murmured. "So you live nearby then?"

"Not far. There's a tailor I use between here and there who could see about adjusting the sleeves and pant legs for you probably as well."

"Any estimates on the mileage there?" Mistoffelees asked, hope kindling in his chest. "And was that an invitation?"

"It's a few blocks, not much over a mile is my guess, we' have to clock it on the odometer to get you specifics. And, if you care to accept it was." She extended her hand, "Jennyanydots."

"Mistoffelees," he said, taking her hand and grinning. "And I would love to. Think we can grab the all of two things currently in my possession first?"

She smiled at that, "I think we certainly can."

His grin made his entire face light up as he swept the suits off the counter, leaving the clerk blinking about the entire exchange. Jenny nodded to the clerk and headed for the door, already explaining what would need to be done to clear out the guest room so it could be used again.

w-w-w-w

The next day, right about 6:30, Coricopat entered the hotel he'd left Mistoffelees at and strode over to the clerk. After a moment the older man behind the counter located the note that Mistoffelees had left. The agent blinked at it for a moment before frowning. It simply read "Dear, Coricopat, I have moved 1.6 miles" and gave Jenny's address. Crumpling the note up in his hand, Coricopat left and headed for the address.

Getting out of his car once there, he double checked it before shaking his head at the elegant townhouse that looked to be from an entirely different era, "You have got to be kidding me." He knocked and a maid answered, "I think I have the wrong address," he confessed.

A voice was heard from inside before Jenny came out of one of the side rooms, her small dog cradled in her arms, "You must be Coricopat."

"I...I'm looking for Mistoffelees Caffrey, terribly sorry to have-"

"He's upstairs," she answered with a smile.

Coricopat blinked at that, but followed the maid up to the door to the roof. His grey eyes swept over the roof, finally focusing on Mistoffelees.

The shorter man was lounging on the roof, the remains of a breakfast in front of him and a newspaper in his hands. He looked up when he heard footsteps, giving Coricopat a relaxed grin. "You're early." His entire posture had changed since the day before but there was something still brittle around the corners of his eyes.

The taller man was still blinking at his surroundings, "We're chasing a lead at the airport. We got a hit on Snow White."

"Snow white," Mistoffelees nodded. "What you decoded from the Dutchman's Barcelona messages."

"Right. I see you moved," Coricopat observed dryly.

Mistoffelees looked around. "I think it's nicer than the other place. Nicer people around too."

"Yeah, I really don't remember the other place having a view," Coricopat shook his head. "How did you land this?"

"Well, I went to that thrift store and the lovely Jenny was there donating some of her late husband's clothes and we got to talking and she offered me the old guest and storage room. Except in a house like this the guest suite might as well be its own functioning apartment."

"Of course it should. You got all this for seven hundred?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded. "And access to her late husband's wardrobe. But I'm to help out around the place too." His grin was back in force.

Coricopat just looked at him, thinking back to the maid, "Right, of course. Feed the dog, things like that."

"Wash the jag," Mistoffelees added. "And watch her granddaughter from time to time."

"She's got _you_ babysitting?"

"I'll have you know I am very good with children, but…" Mistoffelees shrugged as a slender collage age student walked by.

That earned another long, disbelieving blink as the girl greeted Mistoffelees and settled down on one of the chaise lounges, "Granddaughter?"

"She's an art student," Mistoffelees smirked. "We have a lot to talk about after all."

"You are unbelievable. Go get dressed, we need to get going."

Still smirking, Mistoffelees rose, leaving the rooftop.

Coricopat shook his head, "Unbelievable." He poured himself a cup of coffee as Jenny came out on the roof. "It's perfect. Even the coffee's perfect..."

Jenny laughed, "Can you begrudge him that?"

"That's not jewelry on his ankle," he replied. "He's a felon."

Jenny smirked at him, "So was Skimble."

Great. Just great. Coricopat set the coffee cup down, "I'll go wait for him in the foyer."

"Of course. Have a good day."

A short while later, Mistoffelees strolled down the stairs, suit from yesterday tailored down to his fit and fedora on his head.

The agent shook his head, "You look like a cartoon. What are you wearing?"

"Classic rat-pack Devore," Mistoffelees replied, adjusting his slender tie. He bowed, to show off better, flipping the hat back on his hair.

"Would you stop with the hat? Let's go," he turned and headed for the door.

"You're upset," Mistoffelees said, leaning against the banister.

Coricopat turned, a hand resting on his hip, "Now what would give you that idea?"

"It's not hard," Mistoffelees said. "Your face gets sorta pale and your shoulders get tighter. So what'd I do? What rule did I break?"

"I…look, I work hard. I do my job damn well. And I don't have a ten million dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a twenty-two year-old art student while we sip espresso! You're out for not even a day and manage to con yourself into this place."

"I didn't con myself in here," Mistoffelees replied, shoulders tensing. "She invited me when I appreciated the suits she was bringing in to donate."

"You know this is what gets you into trouble. This is a start of a slope you've slid down before. One of those something-for-nothing schemes that lead to frauds that got you locked up."

"Rent is being paid and I am serious about helping out, taking her dancing when she wants, making sure things are going, this isn't a scam!" Mistoffelees protested.

looked him over and finally shook his head, "Forget it. Just get in the car."

"No, this appears to be an issue," Mistoffelees said. "You have no idea what started that slippery slope for me in the first place, the first time, so can you really claim that you know what's going to set me off this time?"

"Alright, then. Enlighten me. What warning signs _should_ I look out for?" the FBI agent snapped.

Something froze in the other. "We should go," he said, suddenly moving quickly across the foyer.

Coricopat grit his teeth and followed the smaller man out to the car. The drive to the airport passed in silence. Once they arrived and got parked, Coricopat led the way through the terminal toward the customs' center.

Mistoffelees followed him inside. Macavity and Bombalurina both looked up, Macavity looking the short man over. "Where'd he get that suit that fast?"

"His new landlady had an entire wardrobe of them," Coricopat answered for him.

"What?" Macavity asked, blinking as Bombalurina arched a brow.

"Didn't we put him up in a hotel?"

"I moved," Mistoffelees deadpanned.

"Has a view and everything," their boss added, evenly.

"What sort of view?" Macavity asked.

"This is not the point," Bomba said. "We have a flag, we should deal with it," she turned, glancing at Mistoffelees over her shoulder. "Nice hat, by the way."

Coricopat nodded once, "What exactly do we have?"

"Name's Tony Field, customs flagged him coming in from Spain for our Snow White," Bomba said as they walked.

"Is customs playing nice?" Coricopat asked.

"Usual chest pounding," she replied, Macavity bringing up the rear of their group. "He's in their custody, not ours."

Coricopat shrugged, "Well, that's less paperwork for me. What's he carrying?"

"You'll love it," Mac said as they entered a room. Several suitcases lay open, full of the same children's book.

Coricopat slid on a pair of gloves and picked one of them up, "Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos?"

"Snow white and her little men," Mistoffelees translated, flipping through it and tilting it up and down.

"_This_ is what triggered our alert?" Coricopat looked at Macavity and Bombalurina, "What do we know about this guy?"

"Rare book dealer," Bomba said, looking over the pictures in the book.

"Anything wrong with his paperwork?"

"No, he's come in three times with the same stuff, declared it each time."

"Huh." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Are we wasting our time on this one?"

The shorter man paused when everyone stopped to look at him. "Uh, well, they're not limited runs or special editions," he said. "They're not worth much on their own, so if there's anything afoot it's not going to be the books as they are."

Coricopat considered that, "Well, he went to all the trouble of flying them in, the question is still why."

"He was sure nervous for having the right paperwork," Bomba added.

"I want to talk to him if customs will let us," her boss murmured, still thumbing through the children's book.

"I'll set it up," Bomba said. "I'm getting some coffee, you want any?"

"Anything but decaf," he answered. "Thank you."

"Hey, I would like-" Mistoffelees started, leaning back.

"Coffee shop's outside," Bomba said bluntly, swaying outside.

"You are so far out of your league it's not even funny," Coricopat murmured, glancing at the smaller man.

"She likes the hat, and besides, it's just harmless flirting. Like a dance," Mistoffelees said with a grin and a shrug.

"She would rather be wearing the hat. I can guarantee you're not even on her dance card."

"Not on the dance card?" Mistoffelees arched a brow.

"I know her girlfriend," Coricopat answered.

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, looking down at the book and turning it on the spine. "I thought you people had a policy," he said after a moment.

"That's the military. We don't ask, we don't care."

The book suddenly became even more fascinating. "Oh," he repeated.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Mac offered and Mistoffelees tensed.

"_Had_," he said, turning the book over to the other side.

Coricopat arched a brow at that, but turned his attention to the cases the books were in. Moments later Bomba entered, glancing around and considering the tension. "Here," she said, handing Coricopat a coffee. "Let's get you talking to him."

Her boss took the coffee gratefully and exited, heading to the room where the suspect was being held.

The man blinked up at him. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"You're Tony Field, the book dealer, correct?"

"Yes, and who are you?"

"Coricopat Zimmerman, FBI."

"FBI?" he asked in some surprised. "You're kicking things up a notch, aren't you?"

"Well, when a shipment like yours kicks off one of our alerts that tends to happen. What do you deal in when it comes to books?"

"Rare ones," he replied, frowning.

"Rare? You have 600 of this one in your luggage this trip alone."

"Old then," he amended. "Either way."

"So, you brought, over the course of four trips approximately twenty-four hundred copies of Snow White...in Spanish."

"Snow White was hardly created by Disney," he replied. "There are other versions of the story that people enjoy."

"You mean folklore, the virginally pure queen? Like Alexander Pushkin's "Tale of the White Princess and the Seven Knights." Is that what you mean?" He smiled thinly, "What are the books for?"

The book dealer blinked at him, caught off guard. "They..."

Just at that moment the door burst open, a man in a suit entering. "I'm his lawyer," he said and the book dealer's eyes widened. "I'd appreciate if you didn't talk to my client. Constitution and all."

Coricopat turned at that, looking the lawyer over, "Were you chasing the ambulance or did they give you a ride?" He shook his head and exited, closing the door behind him and striding off to find the Customs Inspector.

Bomba was waiting with Mistoffelees. "Felon here was right," she said and Mistoffelees gave her a quick, shut off look. "The books aren't worth much. You can pick them up for a couple bucks on ebay."

"Great." He turned as the customs inspector approached, "Hey, why didn't you tell me Field lawyered up? The second he makes that call I can't talk to him."

The other man blinked at him, "He didn't call anybody."

"Then how did his lawy-Oh goddamnit." He whirled on his heel and took off at a run back to where he'd left the bookseller.

They entered the room to find him head, a needle in his neck. As the customs inspector radioed for paramedics, Coricopat shook his head, backing up away from the scene, "Damn it. Did nobody think to frisk the lawyer?"

"Apparently not," Bomba said and swore as Mistoffelees turned to lead the way back to the books, where Macavity was still going over them.

Once they'd returned to the books, Coricopat turned to him, "All right, as a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman's interest in a bunch of worthless books?"

Drumming his fingers against the table, Mistoffelees considered one of the books in front of him a long moment. Finally he moved forward to open it again, eyes going down to the copy right. "Published 1944 in Madrid," His eyes lit up. "He's after this," he said, sliding a ruler under the top sheet of the book and pulling it off, displaying the blank page folded in half.

"The top sheet?" Coricopat demanded.

"The 1944 Spanish press parchment," Mistoffelees replied.

"So that's what he was after. Good. He'll counterfeit something originally printed on paper like that. There have been three prior shipments with these books," he considered the books, trying to calculate how much that could mean.

"Two blank pages per book is 600 sheets," Mistoffelees said not looking up.

"Too much for paintings, not enough for currency." He shook his head, "Bomba, where's the wallet at?"

"Here," she said, handing it over as Macavity craned his neck to see.

Coricopat thumbed through, finally pulling out a visitor pass to the National Archives. "Here we go. He was here the day before he left for Spain."

"Shall we pay it a visit?" Mistoffelees offered with a grin at the thought.

He eyed the other and then nodded, "I think we shall."

w-w-w-w

Entering the archive building, Mistoffelees craned his neck back, a wistful smile on his face at entering the building for the first time in over four years. Coricopat kept a wary eye on him as they met the archivist and were led into a room where they could see what Field had been interested in.

"I've missed buildings like this," Mistoffelees mumbled, more to himself.

"I'm sure you have," came the murmured response before Coricopat attention returned to the man who was carefully laying a piece of parchment on the table.

"This is what he came to see. The Spanish Victory Bond. He took several photographs of it, said he was going to write a book. It really is a shame he's dead, as the bond has a fascinating history."

"It's Goya," Mistoffelees said, surprised but pleased.

"Yes, beautiful isn't it?" The archivist, Vincent, asked.

Coricopat withdrew one of the parchments from one of the books, holding it over the bond, "What do you know, a perfect fit."

"You said it had a history," Mistoffelees said, looking at the archivist and offering him a charming smile.

"Quite. It was issued during the war. The U.S. issued it to support the Spanish underground in their battle against the Axis. Very few have ever been redeemed. There's speculation that entire boxes were captured and many are still hidden away in the caves of Altamira."

"Whole boxes?" Mistoffelees asked, bending over the bond and pausing.

"Yes, that would be something wouldn't it?" he looked at Coricopat, "This is the only surviving copy."

"Except it's a forgery," Mistoffelees said not looking up.

The FBI agent turned to him, "What are you talking about?"

"It's the ink," he explained. "This is iron-gal mized to match the period colors. But it hasn't dried out yet, and I can smell the gum arabic."

Vincent shook his head, "That's not possible. This has been here since 1952."

"It's been here less than a week," Mistoffelees said, raising his eyes to meet the other's before looking at Coricopat.

"That-"

Coricopat sighed, "If he says it, I believe him. If we can take it and have it tested? I'll make sure the utmost care s afforded to it." Mistoffelees turned on his charming smile.


	3. Sitting in the Dark, Misquoting Ginsburg

Macavity entered the conference room, dropping a file on the table. Coricopat looked up at him, "How old?"

"Six days," he replied. "Coincides with Tony's visit just about perfectly."

"We'll pull surveillance video to back it up," Bombalurina added. Mistoffelees sat at the oval table, throwing a ball up and down and his feet up on the shiny surface.

"Good," their boss nodded. "So the new question is why go through the trouble of making a really nice forgery, on the right kind of paper just to stick it back in the archives."

"Is the bond still negotiable?" Mistoffelees asked, tossing the ball up and catching it again.

"It's a zero option, so it never expires. What's it worth?" Cori answered.

"Thousand dollars face value, drawing on nine percent," Mac answered, picking up a calculator.

"Compounded for sixty-four years," Bomba said, leaning over his shoulder.

"Two hundred, forty-eight thousand dollars," Mistoffelees said, still tossing the ball.

Both of the agents looked over at him in surprise. "What he said," Mac said, setting the calculator down in some awe.

"Quarter million's nothing to sneeze at. And he's got six hundred sheets of the stuff," Coricopat shook his head, starting to pace.

Bomba and Mac both looked over to Mistoffelees. "Hundred fifty million, give or take," he said after half a second, tossing the ball back up once he'd come to that conclusion. Macavity whistled, half at the number and half at how quickly Mistoffelees did it in his head.

"He'd be a rich man if he could pass them off, but that still doesn't' tell us why he would take out the real bond to put in a forgery," the head of the team muttered.

"Yeah it does," Mistoffelees said. "If he says he found the boxes in Spain on a trip, what's gonna happen?"

"They'd be..." Coricopat smiled, "taken to the archives and compared against the original."

"Which is already replaced with his copy," Mistoffelees grinned. "So of course they're gonna match."

"Oh this is good." Coricopat caught the ball Mistoffelees was tossing, bouncing it from one hand to the other, "This is really good. All right, so let's think about this for a minute."

"Hey!" Mistoffelees protested as Macavity's phone rang and he stepped out of the room.

Coricopat tossed the ball back to him, "So, if he's going to all this trouble, is there something on the bond that would mark it as different, or is he just covering up the age difference?"

"Age difference is most likely," Mistoffelees said, catching the ball and still looking offended.

"Well, let's see what we can run down on both angles."

Outside in the hallway, Macavity was on the phone with Griddlebone. "Would you believe me if I said I was pulling into the drive way right now?"

"You lost track of time," Grids sighed, "it happens."

"I hope you didn't make dinner," he sighed. "

"Did you forget who you married? I'm smarter than that." On her end of the line she snapped her fingers for the dog, motioning the large golden lab up to the table to eat Mac's dinner. "How's Mistoffelees doing?"

"He met Bomba," Macavity grinned. "But he can do math like a crazy person in his head and already caught things we wouldn't have."

"Well, that's promising. I shouldn't wait up them?"

"I'm leaving. Ten minutes, twenty at most," Macavity attempted.

"I know," she sighed, "I'll see you when you get home."

"Promise," he repeated, "I'll see you soon." Hanging up the phone he turned and headed back into the conference room.

Coricopat looked up as he came back in, "Well, if we're done here we'll meet up tomorrow again."

"I'm done if everyone else is," Macavity replied. "Want a ride home?"

His boss nodded, "If you don't mind." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Come on, you're with us."

The shorter man looked up and glanced at Macavity. "He's driving?" he said, coloring his voice with distaste.

"Yeah," Mac grinned at him. "I'm a good driver, promise."

"My car got taken home already, so we're riding with him," Coricopat said with a shrug.

Mistoffelees sighed, rising and reaching over for his hat and coat, Flipping his hat onto his head, he trailed after the two FBI agents, trying to not eavesdrop on their chatter.

"How's Griddlebone handling you being late again?" Coricopat asked, settling into the passenger seat of Macavity's sedan.

Macavity shrugged as Mistoffelees slid into the back seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like she always does," Macavity said. "I wonder what she does with all those dinners she cooks."

"Your dog's rather fat..." The other agent remarked.

"Dude," Macavity protested. "While I believe that's entirely true? Can I not think about it? I have to eat off those dishes."

"I'm sure she washes them after."

"That doesn't make that better," Macavity grumbled.

"Maybe she just scrapes it into his bowl?" Coricopat offered with a shrug.

"Let's hope so," Mac snorted. "So, any plans for the weekend?"

"Not really. Probably dinner with my sister again. You?"

"Oh you know, usual stuff. Probably catch the game and I think I gotta fix the sink..."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes in the back seat. "With Griddlebone?"

"He claims she likes to watch the Giants," Coricopat explained.

"Even on their anniversary?" Mistoffelees asked sweetly, directing the comment to Coricopat as Macavity braked in the middle of the street.

"God! Damn! I see this coming six months out and then I take it right in the teeth, every time." He heard the car behind them honk and quickly started moving again.

"Oh, that's right. Your anniversary is this Sunday isn't it?" Coricopat glanced at him. "You've still got a couple days."

"Yes," Mac said and started swearing under his breath as he changed lanes. "But this is what happened last year. I said I'd make up for it with something special, not just a corner booth at Donatella's and a romp in the sheets."

"Skip the dinner," Mistoffelees said, voice still falsely sweet from the back seat.

Coricopat turned to shoot the felon a look at that, "Mac, you've been married for ten years, surely you know _something_ you can do."

"Like what? I mean, she's Grids. How the hell do you go about impressing someone who plans dinner parties for diplomats before breakfast?"

"Well, what's she like?" Coricopat asked.

"Sexually?" Mac asked.

"Existentially, please," Mistoffelees interjected. "I do not want to hear about the other bit. What makes her feel alive?" Coricopat nodded his agreement, glancing at Mac for an answer.

"I don't know," Mac said finally. "At least I don't know that's on my budget."

"How could you not know?" Mistoffelees demanded, aghast.

"Well, there is a budget to consider," Coricopat remarked.

"You seriously don't know what your wife likes?" Mistoffelees repeated. "You've been married for how many years?"

"Ten," Macavity replied.

"And you don't know what makes her happy? How long are you planning on being marries again?"

"He seems to be doing pretty well," came Coricopat's remark. "She hasn't changed her identity and fled the country to get away from him."

Macavity glanced over at his partner as Mistoffelees abruptly snapped his jaw shut. After a moment's silence he muttered, "How much further?"

The lead agent flinched, "I...didn't mean that..."

Biting his lip Mistoffelees didn't say anything, looking out the window instead.

Coricopat leaned his head back against the seat, murmuring directions to Macavity as they reached the corners to turn at. Pulling up, Macavity froze. "You're kidding me," he said, staring at the corner house. "How the hell he'd land _this_?"

"Found it at the thrift store," Coricopat muttered.

Mac looked at him in shock as Mistoffelees got out. "Tomorrow at seven?" he asked.

"Tomorrow at seven," came Coricopat's confirmation.

Slamming the door, Mistoffelees stalked back inside. Macavity gave Coricopat a long look before finally pulling away. "Are we going to have any problems?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"I don't think so. I'll do my best to keep my tongue in check."

"That'd be nice to see," Mac remarked. "Since I don't think I saw it at all today."

"Thank you for that, Mac."

"For what?" Mac frowned. "It was my wife he was insulting and I thought you were being unbelievably harsh. We would be the same place we've been on this case for the last five years if it wasn't for him. He's made more progress in a day than we have in the last year and you can't say a civil word?"

"Three years," he corrected. "And...yes, I was unreasonably harsh. I still don't think I want to be working with him."

"Then why'd you let him out of prison?" Macavity demanded. "This was your idea and it's reaping us benefits already so what is the bee in your goddamn proverbial bonnet?"

"This was his idea. All of a sudden I just see liabilities...And alright, maybe I'm a little pissed about the house. I just keep seeing a slippery slope that ends with him back in prison and me in forced retirement."

His fellow agent rolled his eyes. "It was his idea but you didn't have to take it up. Come on, Cor, when I'm giving you relationship advice you might want to think about it. He got caught and served his time. By rights he should be free now-or should even have been two years ago. The slate's clean until he screws up again, okay?"

Coricopat drew a deep breath, "Alright. I'll _try _to keep that in mind."

Pulling up around a corner, Mac stopped the car and gave his friend a long look. "Are you sure there isn't something else going on here I should be aware of?"

"What else would be going on here?" Coricopat turned in his seat to look at Macavity.

"Hell if I know, but this guy's always gotten under your skin. Then you let him out of prison and bitch him out for doing a good job."

"I..." he sighed, "Alright, I'll stop."

"Good," Mac said. "Now, I have a lovely wife to get home to and try to plot out a splendid anniversary for said lovely wife."

"Good luck with that." Coricopat got out of the car, heading up to his apartment. Macavity watched him go, shaking his head slightly.

w-w-w-w

Entering Jenny's house, Mistoffelees closed the door, locking it behind him. The downstairs was darkened and he dropped his hat on the banister of the stairs, bracing his arms against is and trying to breath evenly for a long moment.

There was the sound of wine being poured into a goblet, a voice coming out of the darkness, "I saw the best mind in my generation get run down by the drunken taxi cab of absolute reality."

Mistoffelees snapped his head up, tensing for a moment before his shoulders sagged and he approached the dining room table, flipping the light on on his way. "The hell, Jerrie?" Mistoffelees asked, smirking. "Sitting in the dark, misquoting Ginsburg?"

"It was one of those nights," the redhead replied. "Besides, the light's how they find you."

Mistoffelees snatched the wine bottle from the table, considering drinking it straight but too much of a wine elitist to really contemplate it. Rummaging around for a glass he poured it, swallowing it down more quickly than was proper. "One of those nights indeed. You really can't just help yourself you know, how'd you even get in?"

"I used this," he raised his fist. "I knocked. Introduced myself to Jenny. She invited me to wait for you and enjoy the wine. Have you seen her granddaughter?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, wrinkling his nose at the wine and upending the rest of the bottle into the glass. "I'm going to have to stop anything between you and that granddaughter before it starts, by the way."

"And why's that?"

"Because I like living here too much and I know you too well, Mungojerrie Wheeler."

Jerrie offered him a grin, "You are no fun. How'd your day go?"

Meeting his eyes, Mistoffelees poured a third glass of wine.

"That good, huh?"

"Better. And I was a fool for thinking it would be otherwise," he said, topping off Jerrie's glass.

Jerrie shook his head, "Yes, you probably should have seen it coming. I told you that. Or I think I did. I might have dreamed that."

"We haven't talked since I broke out of prison. Besides sending you my address," Mistoffelees drawled.

"Right. Then I dreamed it. Anyhow, there's that issue about working with the guy who put you in prison."

"Yes, I am well aware of that issue," Mistoffelees drawled, working through the third glass. "He might have said one nice thing to me in the last week. No, he didn't even say it, he just handed something nice to me."

"So, on which level was this a good idea?"

"On the level of another four years of prison with probably no appeal," Mistoffelees replied. "I get better wine out here."

"Guess that's true," Jerrie admitted, looking him over again.

Mistoffelees shrugged. "It was better than staying locked in a cell with no privacy."

"Yeah. You gonna make it through four years workin' with the feds?"

"Maybe my contacts with them will get me an appeal this time," Mistoffelees said. "Unlike last time."

"Right, well," he raised his glass, "here's to that."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes, starting on a fourth glass. "How've the last few months treated you then?"

"Eh, same as they always do."

"That's reassuring," Mistoffelees said.

"Yeah. Life can be repetitious. Can be nice, if you let it. You've got a nice place here."

"I like it," Mistoffelees said. "Jenny's sweet."

"She seems like just the sort you need, honestly."

"I certainly hope so," Mistoffelees agreed, finishing that glass too.

"Slow down on the wine, Misto...don't want to wake up with a headache tomorrow..." Jerrie warned with a small frown.

"I don't care, at the moment," Mistoffelees returned. "I've worked through headaches before."

Jerrie looked at him for a long moment, "So you're saying you're okay with dealing witht eh FBI while hungover?"

"It wouldn't go worse than today," Mistoffelees said, taking the fourth glass.

"What happened today? Beyond dealing with the suits?"

"I think they were enough," he said. "Along, of course, with reminding me that my lover skipped out on me after changing his identity. I can't find him, Jerrie, and I don't know why he left me."

"I did some looking so far, but..." Jerrie shook his head, "He's a ghost. I've used all my channels, he's not in town anymore. I can try further afield, but..."

"Please," was all Mistoffelees said.

His friend nodded, "I'll see what I can find."

Offering him a strained smile, Mistoffelees took another swallow before pulling out the forgery, which he'd swiped from the office. "And I need to know who did this." Partly it was a change in subject, but he had been meaning to bring it up.

Jerrie looked over the forgery, examining it closely, "It's good. _Really_ good. That is the problem with this sort of art-you can't take credit of it."

Mistoffelees winced. "Not usually. Not officially."

Jenny came down the stairs, pausing in the doorway, "Oh, Mistoffelees, you're home."

He offered her a tired smile, unable to muster the energy to be charming. "Thanks for letting Jerrie in. You have a good day?"

"It was good enough. How was your day, dear?"

His smile only turned more strained, lifting the glass slightly. "Better than many days that came before it. I was just expecting too much from it was all."

She looked him over, sitting down next to him, "What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

"My lover left me," he said, lifting his glass slightly again. "I'm working for the man who put in me in prison in the first place and he is acting like I'm a dog on a leash, which I am." For a long moment he paused, and blushed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

Jenny shook her head, "No need to apologize. I was rather wondering when it would sink in for you. This house is your home for as long as you want it, which means it's alright to speak your mind in it."

He looked at her a long moment and leaned his head against her shoulder. "I did nothing to deserve that."

She wrapped an arm around him in response, "You lived a life that deserves that."

Swallowing, he curled up slightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Everyone needs a home to call their own. Consider this yours for now."

"So long as you don't get sick of me, I intend to for a very long time," he said, glancing over at Jerrie who was smiling faintly as he continued looking over the forgery rather than obviously eavesdrop on them.

"I won't get sick of you, Mistoffelees. You, whether you know it or not, are a treasure."

He managed not to say anything about no one else seeming to think that. "Still, thank you," he said softly. "You trust easily, don't you?"

She smiled gently, "Not necessarily. But I like to think I know the sort of man you can be."

"I hope you do," he said and glanced over at Jerrie. "Do you think you can get me any leads on that forgery?"

Jerrie shrugged, watching them, "I can try. I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said softly.

w-w-w-w

The next morning found Mistoffelees sitting out on the patio, a cheap set of watercolors beside him and a pad he'd picked up with one of Coricopat's twenties in front of him. He'd stayed up late the night before doing several water colors, unable to sleep and was finishing another one over breakfast.

Coricopat had convinced the maid to let him in and up to see Mistoffelees. He exited onto the patio, looking the other over, "Mistoffelees?"

"Yeah?" he asked, not looking up from his brush strokes.

"Are you ready to go?"

Mistoffelees glanced at his watch and winced. "Sorry," he said, finishing the stroke and looking over the painting before standing. "I didn't realize it was that close to seven."

"What are you working on?"

"Just a painting," Mistoffelees replied with a small shrug. "Don't worry, it's not a forgery." Bitterness had entered the edge of his voice.

"I never said it was," came the testy response.

"No, but you got that look," Mistoffelees said, walking into the guest room, which was starting to look slightly more like somewhere he would be found. "Like you were going to talk about slippery slopes again."

Coricopat's jaw tensed as he followed him to the door, "So maybe I had half a thought of it, but no."

"Do you mind?" Mistoffelees asked when the other entered the apartment with him. "I need to get dressed."

The agent paused, "Oh. Right. Sorry." He slipped out, "I'll be downstairs."

Mistoffelees watched him go, and rubbed his forehead. Jerrie had been right about the headache, and it had been a very long time since he'd gotten drunk.

Coricopat leaned against the wall at the base of the stairs, waiting for Mistoffelees. He offered Jenny a faint smile when he saw her, but only got a frown for his effort.

Moments later, Mistoffelees came down the stairs, hat already firmly on his head and looking a little worse for wear. "Here," he said, holding out the forgery. "I have a lead on who did this."

"You lifted the forgery?" Coricopat gaped at him, "Are you out of your mind?"

Mistoffelees shrugged. "There was no other way I was gonna find the information in time."

"So you stole it? _This_ is what I'm talking about! You don't just do things like that and not risk ending up in prison again!" He turned at a sound from Jenny only to be solidly slapped. He gaped at her, "What-?"

"You will not threaten him in this house and you will keep it to a minimum everywhere else as well, understood? He's a human being, and you've no right to treat him as less because of the mistake of being caught."

Coricopat opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and finally nodded, "We need to be going."

Mistoffelees gaped between them a long moment, making a soft sound that wasn't quite a word. "A-alright," he said finally.

The FBI agent turned and headed for his car, not interested in sticking around the foyer any longer.

The shorter man looked at Jenny. "I can't tell whether I should be scandalized or thank you," he said, voice low.

"Assume the first for now. Do try to have a better day today. I'll have some wine for you, but perhaps water with it tonight?"

He laughed, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Thank you," he said. "I'll see you tonight. For _a_ glass of wine."

Jenny offered him a smile and a kiss on his cheek in response, "Good. I'll see you tonight. Stay safe."

He nodded, sliding from the house outside, looking around before spotting Coricopat's car and heading over slowly.

Coricopat glanced up as Mistoffelees got in, "I..." He sighed, "I'm sorry about last night. And this morning."

"Sorry?" Mistoffelees asked, wary, the line of his shoulders tight in the well cut suit.

"Yes, sorry. As in, I was out of line and I apologize."

Mistoffelees' expression remained closed off. He knew he shouldn't press this but the words were somewhat shocking non-the-less. "Didn't take you for the type to be sorry," he said to the pavement. "But... thank you, I guess."

Coricopat offered a half-shrug, "You mentioned a lead?"

"Yeah," he said. "The guy initialed the work. And he's really the only one good enough on the market right now to pull this off."

"He _signed_ it?" The agent looked skeptical, "Why would he do that?"

"Very few cons don't want some credit for their work," Mistoffelees said, meeting his eyes. "I signed the forged bonds."

"You what? Where?"

Mistoffelees considered him a moment and shrugged. "Look at the bank seal under polarized light sometime."

Coricopat blinked at that, "...Of course."

The shorter man shrugged again. "The trick is being subtle but still being able to be recognized by your own crew."

"I see. So you know who signed this one?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, opening the door and sliding in. "He's doing a restoration of a church off third street. Think we could swing by on the way in?"

Coricopat considered and then nodded, "Yeah I think so. I'll call Mac, let him know we're running a hunch."

Nodding, Mistoffelees looking out the window rather than look at Coricopat in such an enclosed space.

* * *

><p>Okay, so VS' knowledge of the legal system isn't fantastic but here's something that bothered her about the show: Neal (Mistoffelees' character for those of you who might not have seen it) was considered a model prisoner but he was there the full term. As far as I remember, a prisoner was supposed to be able to appeal their sentence for good behavior at half their term. Was his just too short or something? Anyway, since the show plays fast and loose with legal stuff, we will too and say he should have been able to appeal and get out and didn't manage it for some reason or another. Of course, VS, as a historian, has this really awkward thing of understanding the legal system of the 1920s better than the current one. Things like this lead to moments where people go "It hasn't been that way for fifty years!" and your author sorta goes "huh?"<p>

Lesson: Your authors will try to be as close to the legal system as possible, or at the very least the way the show plays with it.

Also, I wanted to send a shout out to Chirochichi for being one of the most amazing reviewers, who sadly has private messaging disabled so I can't squee over all her reviews properly. I just wanted to say, it's fantastic you're watching the show out of this, because while our muses react so differently from the show, it's a fantastically fun show I really enjoy. As to your other point in the review about sex first or emotions first when it comes to Misto Cori: I agree, I would love to explore them dealing with sex before romance. The closest we get is "Everybody's Looking for Something" but Cori always starts bringing up emotions, even in the verses where Misto isn't ready for them. It is a dynamic on our radar and we're working on it though.

Finally, thank you all who have read this story! It means a lot to us, and we really, really adore getting reviews! It's just so nice to see after a long day that someone's taken the time to leave us that feedback! Thank you again and cheers. -VS


	4. Then Yes, I Lied to a Priest

They pulled up to the church a short while later, Coricopat getting out of the car and eyeing the structure. Mistoffelees rose from the car, looking over the church. "Great work," he said, looking the facade over. "Beautiful old church."

"Yes, it's lovely. For a church. Shall we see about getting inside?"

Mistoffelees gave him a sidelong look. "Not a fan of churches?" he asked as he went for the door.

"It's a church. Is there much to be a fan of?" Coricopat followed him, considering the church. He hadn't set foot in a Catholic church since he was fifteen-willingly since he was thirteen.

"Beautiful artwork, gorgeous architecture, and a fascinating history," Mistoffelees said, taking his hat off and looking at the ceiling and whistling.

The agent nodded slightly, "I'll grant you the artwork and architecture. And I suppose in some cases the history."

The local priest approached them, "Excuse me. You can't come in, we're closed for restoration."

Mistoffelees glanced at Coricopat before back to the priest. "Oh, could we... just a moment, father, if you don't mind," he said, taking the priest to the side.

The priest looked nearly as confused as Coricopat at that motion.

"Please, Father," Mistoffelees said, hat still in hand and looking unbearably earnest. "My best friend there, he's having a crisis of the soul. He's a married man, you see, and he has the most _devastatingly_ beautiful assistant at work, a deeply provocative woman. He's being tempted. More than tempted even. He's not wearing his wedding band to work anymore, just look."

The priest glanced in that direction and sighed, looking like he'd heard it before, "It's very common with men his age. Unfortunately, very common."

"And I want to confront him about this before he tears his life apart," Mistoffelees said, resting a hand on the Priest's shoulder. "He has a lot of faults. I mean, don't get me started, he's a mess. But he's a very spiritual man. I know this place will be where my words have the more effect."

"We are in the city of churches. Unfortunately we're closed. Surely you can find another..."

"This is where he got married," Mistoffelees said, eyes widening slightly to make himself look even more sincere.

The priest glanced toward Coricopat again and finally nodded, "Five minutes."

"Thank you, Father," Mistoffelees said, turning and approaching Coricopat. "Come on, we have five minutes," he said, taking his arm and dragging him toward one of the restored paintings.

"Did you just lie to the priest?" Coricopat eyed him, but allowed himself to be dragged along.

"Do you find Bombalurina provocative and sexy?" Mistoffelees replied.

"Not especially?"

"Then yes, I lied to the priest," Mistoffelees said, hopping up into one of the corner alters, looking over the painting with a pocket magnifying glass.

The agent shook his head, considering the painting as well, "So what are we supposedly doing here?"

"You're being tempted sexually, and it's tearing apart your marriage and you were married here," Mistoffelees replied, scanning the painting, going up and down.

"...Married. Right. Well, I shall keep that in mind."

"Got a problem with that?" Mistoffelees asked with a smirk. "Don't you want to get married?"

"Not in the near future, no. I don't foresee that happening. Not in a church like this anyhow."

"Really?" Mistoffelees asked, still scanning and only half listening for an answer.

"Really. You sound surprised?"

"You seem the type to go the whole married in a church, living in suburbia thing," Mistoffelees replied. "So very middle class and all that. Ah, I found something."

"Then you rather have me pegged wrong. What did you find?"

"Here, C and H," Mistoffelees said, moving to the side and holding the glass out for him. "And what should I peg you as then?"

Coricopat studied the point he indicated, frowning, "Maybe...And oh who knows."

"That's not an answer," Mistoffelees said with an arched brow. "What's the frown for?"

"You're sure that's a C and H?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Mistoffelees rolled his eyes slightly.

Coricopat considered it again, starting to speak, but was cut off as the man in charge of the restoration approached, "Can I help you, gentlemen?" He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Your face is rather familiar. Perhaps I've seen it on the news? Or a most wanted web page?"

"Mistoffelees Caffrey," he said, with a strained smile and holding his hand out.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief," the man responded icily.

"I was never arrested for art theft," Mistoffelees said, keeping his body relaxed only through force of will.

"Not arrested, no. But as I recall you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern."

"He was released, and paid his dues," Coricopat answered testily.

The artist's brow arched, "And you are?"

"Just a friend," the FBI agent returned, missing the sideways look Mistoffelees gave him.

"Well_, friend_. The church is closed."

Mistoffelees offered him a rakish smile, hopping down from his perch. "Of course. We got what we came here for." He paused in front of the artist. "You're doing wonderful work here."

The smile he received was thin, "Thank you. Good day, gentlemen."

Mistoffelees swayed out of the church, arrogance not quite dripping off him but close.

Coricopat managed to dodge the priest who he was sure was ready to advise him on resisting the lusts of the flesh. He fell into step beside Mistoffelees once they were outside, "Well, I'm curious. We'll check him out."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, frowning back at the church.

"You alright there?" the FBI agent asked after a brief mental battle with himself.

He rolled his shoulders. "Fine. I just don't like being called a criminal by a criminal, like he gets to be self-righteous for not getting caught."

"Well, we prove this and he doesn't get that right at all. Hop in, we'll head to the office."

"My my, agent Zimmerman, that was almost kind of you to say," Mistoffelees snarked, sliding into the car.

Coricopat drew a calming breath and got into the car, starting it up and heading for the FBI's offices.

The shorter man glanced over at him, pausing as he considered what he should say.

"I'll tell you what, we catch this guy in the next week and I'll tell you what you should have me pegged for, alright?" Coricopat offered, trying not to be disturbed by the other's silence.

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Not a threat of prison? Alright, fine."

"That threat isn't always my doing, you know. Besides, that hinges on catching him. My information hinges on catching him in the next seven days."

Mistoffelees laughed. "You're setting me up to fail, aren't you?"

"Setting you up to fail?" Coricopat offered him a ghost of a grin, "Why would I do that?"

"Because you don't like answering questions," Mistoffelees replied. "You like being all mysterious more than I do."

Coricopat shrugged, "I just like things to be my own. I work at an agency that specializes in digging up secrets." He paused for a moment, "Which kind of makes me curious about the wine bottle. What's it's significance?"

"How do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, voice snapping into neutral.

"I'm just curious. Why it would be the good-bye he left you."

"It's an '82 Bordeaux," the smaller man started and paused long enough that it seemed like that might be his entire answer.

"An $800 dollar bottle of wine?"

"It only costs that when it's full," Mistoffelees replied. "I got it empty."

"Empty?" Coricopat asked, in some surprise. After all, the younger man was known for wanting and then stealing the best life had to offer.

"Yeah," he said, looking out the window. "When we... well, when we were first together we had nothing. But I got that bottle. We'd fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could actually afford and we'd sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were somewhere. Pretend we had a life we wanted and dreamed about getting there."

"Did it help?"

"Help what? Being dirt poor?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over at him.

"Help plan for your dreams?" the agent asked instead.

"Sorta," Mistoffelees shrugged. "It was the promise of a better life that I never fulfilled. Instead he got someone locked away for half a decade. I'm not even sure I can blame him for skipping town."

Coricopat glanced at him, "You tried though."

"Tried and failed really damn hard," Mistoffelees snorted. "I'm not sure I get points for trying."

The agent shook his head, but fell silent. There wasn't much he could say that wouldn't get the blame on him, or that wouldn't have a similar response.

Mistoffelees glanced at him and sighed softly. "Which is entirely what you needed to hear, right? Isn't it great seeing the fruition of your job?"

"Not always, no. There's some satisfaction in seeing a culprit caught, but not in seeing them get far more time than was originally sentenced."

Paying more attention to his lap for a moment, Mistoffelees swallowed. "Like me?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Doubling the sentence was harsh. Unnecessarily so."

He snorted, looking out the window. "Or the fact no one would bother to hear appeals."

That earned a glance, "No one, what?"

"What?" Mistoffelees looked at him. "If you noticed I served the full term. No appeals or anything apparently. I think someone, somewhere, has a vendetta against me."

"I thought you at least had the opportunity to have one heard, or get the request sent. But..." he shook his head, "Thinking back I didn't even hear about any attempts for an appeal."

"They were there," Mistoffelees replied. "You think I wanted to stay in that place?"

"No, I really doubt you did. I'm just saying, I didn't hear about them."

Mistoffelees looked up as Coricopat pulled in to park, unbuckling before the car had come to a full stop. The FBI agent parked the car and got out, glancing at the forger before heading into the offices.

Bombalurina was waiting as they entered, Mistoffelees trailing behind Coricopat. She held a file out. "That Hagen? He's leaving the country. Booked a flight through private charter, a company in Barcelona and he's leaving the 19th."

Her boss took the file, flipping it open, "The 19th? A week? Seriously? Damn it. When did he book that?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," she said. "Had it flagged down."

Mistoffelees started cursing.

"Goddamnit! We tipped him off. Is there any connection to our books, or the bonds...or the murder? Ideally the murder but we'll take any of them," Coricopat said.

"No, he's impressive as hell," the red head shook her head. "He keeps himself clean."

"Great. I want every available agent on this, Bomba. You know the good ones. Steal them if you have to. I want everything about this guy and I want no excuses. Anything gets in your way..."

"Forge your signature," she replied, already moving. "Got it."

He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Stakes just rose. We've got to prove to my boss that this works. And we have to get this done this week."

"I know," he said softly, spine tense.

"Well, we'd better get working then."

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees tried his hardest not to slam his way back into Jenny's house, feeling tired and out of sorts and strained. His head hadn't stopped pounding all day. Jerrie was seated at Jenny's grand piano and looked up at that, "You're later than last night..."

"Working man now," he said, leaning against the piano. "With a hangover. You find anything?"

"I did, yeah. Your hypothetical tree in the forest made a sound." He slid a photograph across the piano to Mistoffelees, "here's the echo."

Reaching forward with jerky movements, Mistoffelees picked up the picture, letting out a long breath when he saw the photograph of Pounce. For a moment his expression softened before he drifted to the corner of the picture, where a hand was holding onto Pounce's shoulder, a ring obvious. "I may lose him again," he said quietly.

"Lose him? What do you mean? I just found him for you!" Jerrie looked at him, aghast.

"So did someone else," he said, dropping the picture between them and bracing his hands on the piano. "And I don't know who."

"Then we figure that out. You're with the FBI now, and we've still got contacts. Or I do, and you've got me."

"Thanks, Jer," he said, offering him a strained smile. "Also, we were right about the forger."

"Hagen? Of course we were."

"Except he saw me and we have less than week to link him to the bonds or I go back."

"Go...back? You mean... Can they do that?" Jerrie asked, looking even more aghast than he had a moment ago.

Mistoffelees nodded. "They certainly can and are hanging it over my head."

"Damn. Well, we'd better link him to them. He signed them, after all, shouldn't be as hard as all that should it?"

"Initials aren't enough, apparently," Mistoffelees sighed. "We have to catch him in the act or something."

"Great. Well, we'll do it. We're us, and we've got the ruling class on our sides now too. Or on your side."

"I'll take them on my side rather than yours," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

Jerrie grinned, "Good. I don't want them knowing about me. You know the drill."

"Always do," Mistoffelees agreed, picking the photo up again.

Jenny came down the stairs, "Mistoffelees, is that you?"

"Hey, dear," he said, offering her a tired smile.

"Can I get you anything, dearie?" his landlady asked.

"No," he smiled. "At least not anything I should have."

"How did your day go today?"

"Better. There was even civility," he replied, taking the photo and folding it.

"Good. I do hope that continues."

"Thank you," he said. "For the slap earlier. I think it helped."

She smiled, "Let me know if he needs more sense knocked into him."

"I think this should be enough," Mistoffelees assured, fiddling with the photo. "I should turn in early tonight though."

Jenny considered him, but nodded, "Alright. Sleep well, Mistoffelees."

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek and heading up to the apartment upstairs.

She watched him go, shaking her head, "Poor dear. You're welcome to stay if you like, Jerrie. If not, please lock up when you leave." With those words she headed up the stairs to her own room for the night.

: Once in his room, Mistoffelees leaned against the door for a long moment, staring at the photo of Pounce, one hand raising to trace over the other's facial features, remembering all the times, years past when he'd been able to actually touch that face. Finally with a shake of his head, he dropped the photo on the table, crawling into bed and curling up in the center of the bed.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the house the next day, making his way up to Mistoffelees' in-house apartment. He stepped inside, hearing the shower running. He considered waiting outside, but dismissed that. Making his way over to the table to sit down, he paused and picked up the photo of Pouncival where Mistoffelees had dropped it the night before. He frowned at it, and set it down before settling in one of the chairs.

Moments later Mistoffelees stepped out, toweling his hair out and at best described as half dressed. He stopped when he saw Coricopat at his table. "Do you mind?" he asked, leaning back, arching one hip.

The FBI agent looked up, his gaze darting away quickly enough, "Hm? Oh, no?"

"I meant showing up in my home uninvited," Mistoffelees said, looking at the table and freezing.

"I always arrive promptly at seven. The door was open." He glanced at the photo, "It's a good picture. New?"

"That's not strictly speaking your business," Mistoffelees said, moving over and picking it up, towel from his hair draping over one arm.

"Isn't it? I remember there being a conversation about how you weren't supposed to be looking for him."

"A photo counts as looking for someone?" Mistoffelees asked.

"If it was taken recently, say within the last couple months, then yes."

"Does it?" Mistoffelees asked, swallowing.

Coricopat sighed, "Where did you get the photo, Mistoffelees?"

"A friend," Mistoffelees said. "I didn't seek it out or find it myself. I promise."

"I'll take your word for it. But I reiterate, no detours to go looking for him, understood?"

"I'd have to find some place to start for that," Mistoffelees replied. "Now, do I get to keep my photo or are you going to try to confiscate it?"

Coricopat looked at him for a long moment and then pushed the picture across the table toward Mistoffelees, "I don't have a use for it."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said, snatching it back and holding it protectively to his chest.

"You want me to leave while you finish getting dressed?"

Mistoffelees shook his head, moving into the walk in closet and slamming the door behind him.

Coricopat rolled his eyes skyward, but rose, calling through the door, "I'll be downstairs."

Once he heard the door close, Mistoffelees poked his head out of the closet. Moving across the room while he finished buttoning up his shirt, tie hanging out his neck, he set the photo of Pounce down on the end table, picking up a note that Jerrie had left for him that morning. He palmed it into his pocket before going back into the closet for a suit jacket.

* * *

><p>Oh boys. They really don't get along well at this point. And I swear everything one or the other says has more layers than an onion when they're talking.<p>

Thank you very much for reading the story! Please, if you have the time, leave a review on the way out. It's really the nicest feedback you can leave an author, or authors in our case so you're making two people's days. Also, if no one leaves reviews than we don't know what anyone thinks about the story! So it means a lot. Cheers all and thank you again for reading.


	5. Just Open the Door

Once they arrived at the FBI offices, Coricopat made his way quickly up to his glassed-in office, leaving Mistoffelees to his own devices while he checked on any information that they may have recovered regarding Hagen. It wasn't much, and it sure as hell wasn't enough to catch him in the next week. The man was good. Almost too good.

Mistoffelees had been given a desk out on the main floor of the office. He bothered to pick up a file and thumb through it, as if information had just come across his desk, palming Jerrie's not into the file before snapping it shut and going up to Coricopat's office.

The agent looked up, "Find something?"

"Warehouse down by the docks," Mistoffelees replied. "Hagan runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

"How did you find that? We've got some of the best agents looking into him and I've seen nothing about it."

"I have a different line of contacts," Mistoffelees said. "Which is sorta the point of this arrangement isn't it? Are we going to check it out or what?"

Coricopat looked at him for a long moment before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat, "Alright. Let's go."

"What was that look for?" Mistoffelees protested as he trailed after him.

"Try to keep things legal, alright? I really don't need to cover us both for anything that might go wrong if you don't."

"I have done nothing illegal," Mistoffelees replied. "I got a contact, who passed on information. Is there something illegal in that?"

"No. I'm just saying try to avoid it. Slopes and everything I've already said," they reached the parking garage and Coricopat got into his car. Mistoffelees muttered something that sounded like taking his slopes and eating them before plopping into the car.

They headed out to the dock area, Coricopat parking the car a block away from the warehouse and getting out. His gaze swept over the docks, "Less motion down here than I expected."

"Really?" Mistoffelees said and considered. "That's a good sign for us. Probably scared anyone else away."

"Also means that if they spot us we're gonna have hell to pay. Come on," he started forward, his grey eyes darting around as he led the way to a large door in the warehouse. They were concealed from the main dock, which was good as several armed guards were readily apparent the nearer they were to the warehouse.

"Come here," Mistoffelees said, moving to the side of the door and leaning his ear against it. "Do you hear that?"

Coricopat leaned against the door, listening, "Yeah, I hear it. You want to put a name with the sound?"

Mistoffelees moved his hand in time to the sound a moment longer, as if double checking. "That's a press. Damn it, that's a printing press. He's printing bonds in there right now, you can hear him!"

"How long til he's done do you think?" Coricopat asked, already pulling his phone out.

"Multi-color print as complicated as the Goya," he said, more to himself and ticking things off his fingers. "Test proofs, ink formulation, perfection registration..." He looked back up at Coricopat. "He'll be running it for days."

"Good." He dialed the phone, calling directly to Bombalurina and requesting recording equipment. After telling her they were on their way back, he hung up, "Well, we've got what we can here for now. We'd better get back."

"What, really?" he asked. "We can't do anything else?"

"Not legally, no. Not enough for a warrant here." Mistoffelees swore, heading for the car.

They got back to the offices in a surprisingly short amount of time, Coricopat calling his team to the conference room. Bombalurina entered. "We got some agents on recording the sound, but it's not going to do us that much good."

"No. We know he's our guy, but there's not a damn thing we can do about it," Coricopat snapped, starting to pace in front of the windows.

"But you agree with me that it's him?" Mistoffelees asked from where he was sitting.

The lead agent nodded, "I do agree with you on that point. We just can't touch him."

"We know the bonds are there, just open the door."

"There's this little thing called Warrant Law," Coricopat answered, sliding a book containing the laws across to Mistoffelees. "All I've got is a sound coming out of a warehouse and no way to link him to the bond. Read up on it." He leaned against the conference table, "I've got to talk to your friend."

"My who?" he asked, looking from the thick book back to Coricopat. "And are you giving me homework now?"

"The guy who tipped you off about that warehouse. And no, but I suggest you do read it, it'll clear up the warrant bit."

"I don't think I can bring my contact into the FBI," Mistoffelees replied, meeting his eyes.

"Then set up a meeting with him," came the testy response.

"He's skittish," Mistoffelees replied. "Beyond that, actually."

"Look, I have to know how he connected Hagen and that warehouse. I need you to trust me on this."

"I might consider trusting you, he won't," Mistoffelees replied, shoulders getting tenser by the minute. "I can ask him if you like."

Coricopat nodded, "I need you to do that." He paused, "please."

"I'll ask him," Mistoffelees promised after a moment.

"Thank you. Alright, folks, not much more we can do until we hear something worthwhile on that listening equipment. We're just about at the end of the work day, pack it in and call it a night."

Mistoffelees considered him a long moment before standing and taking the book, hesitating as to whether he should say what he was thinking or not. Coricopat glanced at him, "I'll give you a ride home. Something on your mind?"

"That guy, that got me the information?" Mistoffelees said softly, holding the book to his chest. "He's the only friend I still have. I'm not going to let you hurt him. If that means keeping him from you, I will."

"I," he nodded after a moment, "I understand."

"Good," Mistoffelees said with a small nod, and heading quickly toward the elevator.

Coricopat shook his head slightly, but followed the smaller man. Not utilizing that contact except through Mistoffelees was going to be a bit of a pain, but it could be doable.

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees lay sprawled out over a couch downstairs, looking through the warrant law book. He was mostly flipping through it listlessly and skimming pages rather than study it. Turning another page he paused, flicking back to the former page and reading it over three times to make sure he understood it. Dropping the book on the couch cushion, he rose, grabbing Jenny's keys on his way.

w-w-w-w

Several blocks away, Coricopat picked up his phone on the second ring, "Zimmerman...He _what_? Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up, immediately calling Mac as he yanked on his shoes and coat.

"Whatta?" Macavity asked into the phone, having fumbled it off the bedside table and having to pick it up to answer. "What _time_ is it?"

"No idea. I just got a call from the Marshalls. Mistoffelees is running. Get dressed and meet me at the offices," Coricopat rattled off, on his way out the door.

"He's _what_?" Macavity yelped, stumbling out of bed and falling over before jumping back up, shaking the sleep out of his head.

Griddlebone blinked herself away at that, "Mac?"

"You heard me," Coricopat replied. "I'm calling Bomba and rousing a team. I'll see you shortly."

"Is he still wearing the anklet?" Mac asked, glancing back at his wife and holding up a hand.

"Yeah, it's still transmitting."

"So we'll be able to find him with that, right?"

"Yeah, should be," Coricopat agreed.

"Alright, I'll see you at the office. I figure we'll be heading out from there or should I meet you somewhere else?"

"We'll be leaving from there," came the clipped response.

"See you then," Macavity said, hanging up and going quickly for a shirt, buttoning it up and turning back to his wife. "Sorry, hon."

"What's happened, Mac?" She sat up, reaching for the lamp at the bedside.

"Caffrey ran," he said, pulling on a tie and pulling it into a knot before searching out a pair of pants. "But he still has his anklet on."

"Someone as smart as you say he is didn't' cut the anklet first?"

"I think there's something else going on," he said, leaning over and kissing her, getting distracted for a moment by what he meant to be a quick kiss. "I'll call you once this gets sorted, alright?"

"Alright. You better. Should I wait up?"

"Go back to sleep," Mac said, smoothing her hair back. "It should take a while to get the team together and moving."

"Alright, love." She offered him a smile, "Call me when you're on your way home."

"I will," he promised, kissing her again before darting from the room, grabbing his suit jacket on the way.

Grids watched him go and picked up her book from the bedside table, settling in to read for a while.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees got out of Jenny's car, a camera in hand and started snapping pictures of the warehouse in the pre-dawn light. He was angling the camera like a professional photographer, even though he was pretending to be an amateur.

One of the look outs spotted him, "Hey!" Three of them started toward him quickly.

"Hey there," he said, offering them a charming grin and snapping a shot of them with the building behind them. "Lovely morning, innit?"

"What are you doing?" You can't be here!"

"Oh, I'm taking a class over at the Annex," he said, still smiling cheerfully. "And pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure A, you know?"

Two of the look outs grabbed him, the one who was apparently in charge, nodding to the warehouse, "Take him in."

Mistoffelees protested, but allowed himself to be dragged inside the warehouse. His eyes widened and he tried not to grin as he was dragged past stacks of the Spanish children's book that workers were cutting the top sheet out of, the press clearly running Goya forgeries.

The look outs shoved him into an opulent glass office in the middle of the floor and before they could follow he slammed the door in their faces, locking it quickly against them.

Hagen approached moments later, "What is going on here?"

Mistoffelees waved at him from inside his office. "Hello again."

"Why'd you bring him inside?" he whirled on the look outs.

"He was taking pictures of the place," one of the look outs replied.

"Open the door!" the lawyer who killed the book dealer demanded, brandishing a gun.

Mistoffelees just shook his head. "This sounds like inch-thick Lexan. So... no."

"Go get the keys," Hagen snapped at the man.

Mistoffelees moved around the office. "Nice place here. You shouldn't have signed the bonds, by the way. Not that I'm a stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse, but it's still stupid as all hell."

"I swear I'm gonna kill you when we get the door open. I hope whatever they're giving you is worth it."

"It is," he replied simply as sirens could suddenly be heard.

Hagen startled at that sound, whirling and then shooting Mistoffelees a long look. Mistoffelees pulled up his suit leg, showing off the tracker that was flashing red. The art forger gaped at him, 'You are a particular kind of bastard!" He whirled to the men working the presses, "Pack it in! Grab the bond and let's go! Everybody, now! Move it along!"

Just then the doors opened. "We have a fugitive hiding in this building," Macavity was saying. "Let's get inside."

Guns were quickly trained on the forgers and printers who raised their hands as Coricopat strode through, "This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance. Anyone want to explain what that means to Mr. Hagen here?"

"Exigent circumstances allow us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant first," Bombalurina replied as Macavity picked up one of the freshly inked forgeries.

"And to seize any and all evidence that is discovered in plain view, regardless of connection to the original crime," Coricopat smirked at Hagen, "Remember me? Friend?" His gaze moved to the 'lawyer' from the airport, "And hey, you have your lawyer with you."

Bomba put the lawyer in handcuff as another agent took Hagen and started dragging them both away, Macavity running the seizing of the boxes.

Unlocking the office door, Mistoffelees offered Coricopat a grin. Coricopat entered the office, returning the grin, "You know, you're really bad at this whole escaping thing."

"What can I say?" Mistoffelees said, gesturing back to the open safe at the back of the office.

"Is that the original victory bond over there?" the FBI agent asked.

"Why yes, yes it is."

That earned a bit of a laugh as he moved to lean against the desk, 'You know this technically makes me three and oh."

"I'm not really trying..." Mistoffelees protested. "Besides, you tricked me the first time."

"Still caught you."

He gave the FBI agent a long look, legs swinging from where he was sitting on the edge of Hagen's desk. "You know, you said you'd tell me something if we caught him in a week."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, giving him a long look.

"I'll tell you when I drive you home. No need for my team to be hearing it too."

"Fair enough," he shrugged and paused. "Does this mean I won't go back?"

"I'll call the Marshalls, talk to Vlask. You did good today, gave us a reason for search and seizure, and I was the one who made the mistake of telling you to read up on warrant law. Don't pull this stunt again and I think I can keep you on the outside."

Mistoffelees grinned softly. "Well, I meant, when I got out you said that it was probation, and if I helped with this you'd see about making it permanent."

"And you've proved yourself useful and creative. It'll probably stay probationary for a while, but you're good for now."

The shorter man grinned, smile relieved. "Okay."

"Gotta admit, crazy stunt, but it worked," Coricopat said with a small shake of his head.

"It did work," Mistoffelees nodded. "Though I will add your timing is sorta impeccable. Another few minutes and the crazy stunt would have got me shot."

"I have very little doubt of that. You maybe want to try not to do that again?"

"I'll endeavor to avoid it," Mistoffelees smirked.

"Good." He straightened, "Come on, we have a few things to deal with and some paperwork, and I have some calls before we can head back."

Mistoffelees made a face. "Paperwork. Ugh. Never had to do that on the other side of the law."

"Well, meet the drudgery that is our duty. Must leave papertrails or we look less than legal," the agent offered, moving to the door. Mistoffelees remained where he was a long moment before finally following.

w-w-w-w

Several hours later, Coricopat finally emerged from his office, "You ready to head out?"

Mistoffelees looked up from where he was just about asleep on a file. "Huh? Wha? Oh, yeah."

"Well, let's get you home then."

Shaking his head to try and get the sleep out of it, Mistoffelees rose. "Did Macavity ever figure out what to get his wife?"

"He's got a week off, and I think he has tickets tot eh Caribbean. Second honeymoon or something like that."

Mistoffelees grinned. "Good boy."

That earned a quiet laugh, "Yeah. So, what was it I was telling you again?"

"Whatever was up with you at the church," Mistoffelees said, putting his hands behind his head as he walked. "Which they're gonna have to find a new restorer for."

"I'm sure they'll find someone. Church like that probably has enough in its coffers." He fell silent until they reached the car, "I'm not middle class...or wasn't always. I was raised a couple rungs up the social ladder from that. Good catholic family."

That almost stopped the other in his tracks. "Catholic? You looked like you were going to have a heart attack walking into that church, I don't believe you!"

"Catholic. I haven't set foot in a catholic church since I graduated high school. By that time I was only going for Christmas and Easter mass. I was fifteen when I stopped going every Sunday, and then only because I got a job and begged my boss to schedule me over every possible mass my parents could drag me to."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning against the wall and waiting for the elevator.

"Why go hear about something you don't believe?"

"Why'd you stop then?" Mistoffelees asked as the door dinged open.

Coricopat shrugged, stepping inside, "I don't know if there's really one single reason I can answer that with."

The shorter man pouted at him. "So how'd a rich kid end up an FBI agent then?"

"It's what I wanted to do. I like the idea of helping people, doing what needs to be done." He shrugged, "Even if it did cost me contact with my parents."

Even though they were standing still Mistoffelees froze entirely, body tensing. "... You're not in contact with your parents?"

Coricopat shook his head, "My father disowned me when I went into law enforcement, though I'm sure he could have found another reason if he wanted to."

"That is the most moronic reason for disownment I've ever heard," Mistoffelees said, voice lowering in anger.

"It is what it is. Could be worse."

"How?" Mistoffelees snapped.

"He could have disowned me like he did my sister. She took a female lover and got the boot."

The shorter man tried not to react to that. "And you're on the straight and narrow path and that still got you disowned?"

"I'm in law enforcement, and I might have lied to him about it until I actually got into Quantico."

"Way to piss off the rich parents," Mistoffelees muttered as they reached the ground floor.

"Oh I'd been doing that for a while, but there were a couple things that led to it in the end, I suppose."

"Am I getting those things or are you being mysterious again?" Mistoffelees asked, walking out of the building toward the car.

"I had a boyfriend in college. Didn't end well, but it is what it is," Coricopat answered simply, following Mistoffelees.

The shorter man came to almost a full stop again. "So you and your sister, huh?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

The agent's jaw tightened at that, "Yes. What of it?"

"Not what I expected," he said, picking at his sleeve. "From a Catholic family no less."

Coricopat shrugged, "And now you know why I stopped attending."

"Apparently," he said, slipping into the car. "So, here's the thing-I know Bomba has someone, and Mac's married, but I haven't ever heard about you."

"And here I thought you knew as much about my private life as I do about yours."

Mistoffelees snorted. "I knew you were single as long as I've been paying attention. Wondering why."

"Haven't met someone I'd be willing to ask to deal with the stress of dating someone in law enforcement."

That got an arched brow. "That's a crappy reason."

"I happen to think it's a pretty decent one," the FBI agent returned.

"How?" Mistoffelees actually turned in his seat to look at him. "If you care about someone, damn the risks and dangers. It's about being with them or whatever time you have. Stress? Why would that matter?"

"I haven't met anyone I care about enough to work through the problems that arise from it either."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees hunched back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Sorry... I was projecting."

Coricopat sighed, shaking his head, "No...it's...it's fine. I just have watched relationship after relationship around me fall to pieces due to different aspects, several related to hazards of the job."

"Macavity's hasn't," Mistoffelees pointed out, still staring straight ahead. "So you have one good example at least."

"Two. Bomba's been in a relationship for a while too."

"There you go," Mistoffelees shrugged. "Probably just not looking hard enough."

"Perhaps. And when I have the time I'll consider looking. For now, I'll settle with what I have."

"Talk like that and you'll never find the time," Mistoffelees said under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Coricopat shrugged, "Then I won't find the time."

Mistoffelees paused, biting his lip before finally asking, "Aren't you lonely?"

"I'm too busy to be lonely," came the quiet response.

"No one's too busy to be lonely," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "And if they say that they're lying."

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "Then allow me the lie."

"Yeah, well," he said, mouth twisting. "Your lover didn't leave you when you couldn't follow."

"No. He didn't. Perhaps yours will come back."

"He won't," Mistoffelees said quietly, looking out the window. "Not after leaving like that."

Coricopat sighed, "I'm sorry."

"For?" Mistoffelees said, still not looking at him.

"That loss. It's easier to bear loneliness when you haven't recently known what it was to have someone waiting for you."

The shorter man didn't reply, looking down and fiddling with his cuff again. He didn't say it had been a very long time since he'd had the chance to go home to Pounce, and that it had been a lot of missed dates over four years and he couldn't really have expected the other to still be waiting for him anyway.

Coricopat allowed the silence to lengthen, not saying anything further until he pulled the car to a stop in front of Jenny's house, "Are you going to be alright tonight?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, finally looking up.

The taller shrugged, "It's a concern. I was just checking."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "Nothing's changed. Tomorrow, same time?"

"Same time. I'll see you then." Nodding, Mistoffelees slipped from the car, shoving his hands in his pocket and moving over to Jenny's.

* * *

><p>This brings us to the end of our first major case with these characters! We hope everyone's been enjoying the story as much as we've been enjoying writing it! Please remember that taking a few moments to leave a review makes your author's day much brighter and happier. Cheers all and we'll be back with the next case soon.<p> 


	6. And I Didn't Trust Either of You

Several weeks later and several boring mortgage frauds later, Mistoffelees leaned on his balcony at Jenny's, looking over the city. Jerrie knocked on the doorframe from Misto's apartment onto the balcony, "Hey you."

"Hey you," Mistoffelees said, glancing back at him back to the city. "I forgot how... glittery the city was at night. It amazes me all over again."

"Looks like all those jewels people think are a good idea to try and fence."

That got a laugh from Mistoffelees. "I'm surprised more people don't try to steal the city, but I'm sure it's not worth that much," he said. "And god knows we've tried stealing our share of those glittery jewels."

"Yeah, but that never went as well as some of the other things," Jerrie answered. "Jewels are nice, but can be a pain in the ass sometimes."

"No kidding," Mistoffelees said, finally turning away from the city and leaning against the railing, looking the red head over. "So, any luck on figuring out how to get this anklet off?"

"I'm working on it. You're lucky though that they gave you a two mile tether. That's a lot in New York. Remember Jimmy Dimaco? The feds had his anklet set at twenty-two _feet_. He had to take a shower with one foot out of the tub." Mistoffelees gave him a long, disbelieving look. "Alright, maybe it was thirty feet. But either way you have it better."

"Two miles isn't enough," Mistoffelees said, bracing himself against the railing and his grip tightening. "I need to find Pounce. The man with the ring was with him in California. You tell me what he wants from Pounce, because he didn't find what he was looking for in San Diego."

"How do you know what he was looking for?"

"Because..." Mistoffelees paused and sighed, running a hand through his black hair. "Because I told Pounce I kept everything-the money, the bonds, the art, all of it-in San Diego."

"Well, clearly that's not the truth, because you told me it was all hidden in Portland, isn't it? Isn't it? Oh. There's nothing hidden in either place, is there?" Jerrie frowned, "It's a test. You told him San Diego, you told me Portland, then whichever rock gets overturned, you know who betrayed you."

Biting his lip, Mistoffelees shrugged a bit, feeling guilty. "I needed to know," he said softly.

"Know what? That you can trust me?" Jerrie's expression was somewhere between indignant and hurt.

"You know I'm not good with trust," Mistoffelees replied, hunching his shoulders slightly.

"I...I know, but...After all I've been through with you?"

"I'm sorry," he said, dropping his eyes. "And maybe you're right. In the last five years it wasn't you that checked the location out."

"Why would I? You were getting out and it's your stuff."

"I told you about Portland before I got into prison," Mistoffelees said. "Four years was a long time, okay?"

"Yeah, but still. I'm not the one who kicked over the rock, in any case," Jerrie said, still looking hurt.

The shorter man looked down. "He didn't betray me. That man, who has him, he forced him to."

"Then why didn't he warn you about it when he came to say good-bye to you in prison?"

"That's the thing? What if he did and I was too stupid to see it?"

"Misto...You're the smartest guy I know. You really think that's likely?"

"Smart or not I was a little distracted at the time," Mistoffelees said, eyes darkening. "When he told me goodbye I shut down. I mean, when the FBI was starting to close in, we'd pass codes and stuff to each other. Folded letters, stuff like that..."

"So you think he left you a code when he went to visit you?"

"He might have," Mistoffelees said, swallowing. "I really hope he did."

"Then you need the security tape, right?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said softly. "Any suggestion on getting it?"

"Well, you're working with the FBI now, can't you ask them if you can see it?" Jerrie offered.

"Yeah, that will go swimmingly. Hey, you there, who's told me eight times a day the last three weeks not to look for Pounce, can I see the tape of our last meeting?" Mistoffelees sighed. "What should I do, pull really big eyes on him and beg?"

"It's worth a try," Jerrie shrugged. "Worst he can say is 'no', right?"

"Suppose so," Mistoffelees murmured, looking back over the lights of New York.

"So, you going to stare over the city for the rest of the night then?"

"And if I do?" Mistoffelees asked, flashing him a grin even though his eyes looked defeated still.

"I might have to call Jenny in to drag you out on the town instead."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. "I can't wallow?" he protested.

"You've been wallowing a lot. Time to take a break from it."

"But-" Mistoffelees started again.

"But one night of not wallowing isn't the end of the world."

Mistoffelees sighed. "So, Jenny then. A night out. You really think this is a good plan?"

"You really think it's not?"

The shorter man sighed before going to the door and hoping down the stairs. "Jenny! You wanna go dancing?"

Her voice drifted up, "I've nothing else to do this evening, if you're up to doing so."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Mistoffelees entered her office. "Great. Jerrie has declared I can't wallow tonight."

She offered him a bit of a smile at that, "Good for him. A night of dancing, I do think you can handle."

w-w-w-w

The next day, Mistoffelees entered the office with his shoulders tight. Looking around, he nodded at several people, reaching his own desk-one of these days he'd believe he had his own desk at the FBI-and flipping through files aimlessly until he could think of some way of broaching the tape to Coricopat. Coricopat came down the stairs from his office, skimming a file, and made his way over to Mistoffelees' desk, "Morning."

"Morning," Mistoffelees said, glancing up and pausing. "Any... interesting cases today?"

Coricopat shook his head, "Nothing of real note. A couple of small things, but nothing that really needs any massive hauling out of the forces."

"Oh, well, that's good right?"

"It is. One, or several, fewer crises to deal with is always a good thing."

Mistoffelees fiddled with his cuff for a moment before looking up. "You know how you've told me not to go looking for Pounce?"

"I remember having that conversation several times, yes."

"I have a favor to ask," Mistoffelees followed up.

The agent eyed him, "What is that?"

"I want to see the tape," he started and swallowed. "Of the last time Pounce came to visit me."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I just want the closure," Mistoffelees said, "And I'm hoping it would help."

Coricopat looked skeptical, "And you don't think it will induce you to go looking for him?"

"It can't make me miss him more than I already do," Mistoffelees said, voice dropping again and his eyes widening ever so slightly as he tilted forward half an inch.

"I...still think this is a bad idea." Why didn't he just say no and be done with it?

"It's just," Mistoffelees dropped his eyes and bit his lip. "I miss him is all. It'd be nice to see his face again. I promise I won't go running after him."

Coricopat hesitated for a moment at that and finally sighed, "I'll see if I can get a copy."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said, bringing his eyes back up again.

Across the office, Bombalurina blinked. "Did the boss just get entirely played?"

"Probably," Macavity said, with a bit more of a tan than usual from his vacation with his wife but not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

The lead agent's grey eyes scoped over Mistoffelees' features, "I find you're looking for him, though and I'll shorten that radius your anklet allows, got it?"

"Got it," Mistoffelees replied. "I like being able to actually go to the park, you know."

"I'm sure you do. So keep it in mind."

"Yes, sir," Mistoffelees muttered, offering him a rakish smile at the same time.

Coricopat shook his head, "It appears I have a phone call to make..."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees added.

"Of course." He turned on his heel and headed for his office, the door closing firmly behind him.

"I refuse to comment," Macavity said with Bomba gave him a long look.

w-w-w-w

Several nights later, Mistoffelees entered his apartment to already find Jerrie there. He brandished the tape. "Got it."

"I'm impressed. How'd you do that?" The redhead asked, barely looking up from the book he had his nose buried in.

"Big eyes and flirting," Mistoffelees replied, pushing Jerrie over to sit. "How I do everything."

"So asking him worked then."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, leaning back. "Apparently flirting with the guy that put me in prison works. I should keep that in mind."

"I don't think it'll work for everything. Yu think he knew you were flirting?"

"Am I known for being subtle?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over at him. "Besides, he's had boyfriends before."

Jerrie arched a brow in surprise at that, "We're talking about the suit I think we're talking about?"

"Yeah, we are," Mistoffelees said, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrinkling his suit slightly-but it was a move from his childhood and he couldn't ever let it go.

"Can't see him with someone, honestly."

"Yeah, well," Mistoffelees snorted. "He's too busy to have anyone and wouldn't want to put them under stress anyway." He rolled his eyes, expressing what he thought of that.

Jerie burst out laughing at that, "Wow. Stress? That's his excuse?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "Something about not wanting to put someone under the stress of dating someone in law enforcement. It is sorta the shittiest excuse on the book I've heard to date."

"Are you upset by that excuse?"

"What?" Mistoffelees turned his head to blink at him.

"You seem rather derisive about the excuse. If he wants to make himself lonely and miserable, what's it to you?"

"I'm lonely and miserable because someone left me, he is through choice and it pisses me off that he's not even taking a chance I currently don't have," Mistoffelees snapped.

Jerrie offered a half shrug, "You can't fix stupid. And that's what he's being."

"Doesn't mean I don't resent it," Mistoffelees mumbled. "Shall we watch this or not then?"

"Your tape, your video player, your tv. Feel free to put it in."

Rising, Mistoffelees looked down at the tape a long moment before finally putting it in. "So long as you help me here," he said, returning to the couch.

"I'll do what I can, after all don't I always?" Jerrie glanced at his friend. Mistoffelees offered him a strained smile before turning to the tape.

They watched it for a few minutes, Jerrie finally speaking, "Did he always style his hair like that?"

Yes," Mistoffelees said. "Or the last several times he came to see me. It's the same basic cut he always has-had."

"Oh. Okay, well, you seeing anything?"

"His scarf just formed the letter M," Mistoffelees replied and stopped. "I don't think that helped."

"Thirteenth letter of the alphabet. It's a prime number, considered by western cultures as unlucky. I don't know that it helped, no," Jerrie leaned back against the couch with a shrug.

"Thank you, rain man," Mistoffelees mumbled.

"Hey, do you want my help or not?"

"I do but-" Mistoffelees froze, standing as he noticed it. He rewound the tape quickly. "There, his hand," he said, pointing to the tape at the point that Pounce stood.

Jerrie leaned in, "Morse code. B-O-double T-L-E..."

"Bottle," Mistoffelees finished, moving over to pick up the bottle Pounce had left for him, turning it in his hands.

"Seriously? We're back to the bottle? We've been over that thing, I thought."

"Apparently not well enough," Mistoffelees replied.

"Misto...Really? You really think he left you a 'message in a bottle'? Seems...kinda cliché."

"Or one of those classics you think no one does anymore because they're obvious?" Mistoffelees offered.

"It's a plain glass bottle with plain paper label, and probably a couple drops of cheap wine inside. Misto, it's no message."

"And if it is?" Mistoffelees asked. "Damnit, Morse code, only think left in the apartment, there has to be something else. It's too elaborate of a set up for there not to be."

"Or it's an elaborate set-up to make you think it is while he figures out where you have the stuff stashed."

Mistoffelees gave him a long sideways look. "You never did like Pounce, did you?"

"I didn't trust him. There's a difference."

"And I didn't trust either of you," Mistoffelees said, looking at the bottle again and titling his head enough that his hair hid his eyes.

Jerrie sighed, "Maybe it is a message, but how are we supposed to find it?"

"I don't know yet," he sighed.

"Well, you think of anything, let me know. I'll help as much as I can, you know that."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said softly and offered the red head a smile.

"What are friends for?"

"Probably not this," Mistoffelees said, smile finally becoming slightly more relaxed.

Jerrie shrugged, "Well we'll file it into the 'things friends are for' category anyhow."

"Okay," Mistoffelees said, voice soft. "We'll file it there."

* * *

><p>A shorter interlude between cases. We hope you enjoyed, and please, if you enjoy the story and would like to see it updated, review! It means a lot to your authors and gets your speedier updates!<p> 


	7. The Irony of the Eighth Commandment

Macavity entered the FBI van, nodding at the agents already inside and handing Bombalurina a cup of coffee. "Morning, sunshines. We got any headlines yet?"

"No," Bomba replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Although they keep bitching about some bible or another."

"Is it a debt ledger?" Macavity asked with a found.

"Well," Bomba leaned back, crossing her arms. "Whatever it is, it's missing and they ain't happy about it."

One of the agents suddenly tensed. "We have a situation."

"Is that Barelli? What's he doing here?" Bomba asked, leaning forward with a frown to look at the video of the mobsters meeting.

"I don't know," Mac sighed. "But I bet it's not of the good."

"That's Paul Ignazio, his nephew," one of the agents supplied.

"Turn the mic up," Macavity said, taking a long swallow of coffee.

Ignazio could be heard, his voice uncertain, "You sure about this?"

Barelli seemed at the end of his patience, "Do it!"

Macavity had time to frown before he nearly jumped out of his wobbly seat. "Damn it, he's walking over here." A knock rapped on the back of the van and for a moment the agents inside just stared at each other in shock before turning. Finally, Mac opened the door, peeking out though he already knew who was waiting outside.

Ignazio stood there, "You all are the FBI right? We need your help."

"You need our-" Macavity started and picked up his phone, dialing ahead to the office. "If you don't mind coming with us then?" he asked as the phone started ringing.

"We'll meet you there," he answered.

"Great," Mac nodded, switching his attention to the phone. Ignazio went back to his uncle to relay the news.

w-w-w-w

Less than an hour later found Barelli seated in Sonya Vlask's office, Coricopat Zimmerman leaning against the wall to one side, "Last week, somebody walks into my church and steals the bible."

Coricopat's brow arched skeptically, "An actual bible?"

"Yeah, you know, the flood, Abraham sacrifices Isaac. You heard of it?"

"Why do you want our help?" Sonya Vlask cut in, giving his subordinate FBI agent a long look.

"I'm a tax paying citizen."

"So file a police report," Coricopat answered as though it was the simplest thought.

"Oh come on, you got your guys sitting on me. It's part of the game, I know, but it means I'm not free to, uh, find out who did this."

Sonya took a breath, looking like he was considering scolding Coricopat again. "You mean you can't bust heads like you'd prefer. So you turn to the law."

"Awful accusatory of someone who comes askin' for help," Barelli remarked.

"Get to your point," Sonya said quickly instead.

"This bible, it's not just some book that the Gideons leave on the night stand. This- this is five centuries of history. From Naples. The _saints_ prayed over this book." He shot Coricopat a look when the other offered a derisive snort at that.

Sonya glared at Coricopat as well, motioning him to the side. "Look, I don't care about your personal feelings for this guy, but I don't want the archdiocese crawling down our necks because we refused to recover a bible, okay?"

Coricopat bit his tongue on the combination of things that was going through his head, but nodded, "Fine. But if he's asking us then he really wants it back." He turned to the mafia boss, "All right, let's get this straight here. You may go to confession once a week, but the bureau doesn't forgive sins. We don't work for you."

Barelli looked unimpressed, "What do you want?"

"Shut down your book making operations at Masso's club."

"Masso's." Barelli shrugged, "It's a restaurant. See for yourself any time. After Thursday. Please. Please, help me fine my God damn bible."

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees looked up as Jerrie tapped his fingers against the edge of his table. "Please stop!"

Jerrie startled slightly at that, "It's part of my process. You either taught him too well or it's just a bottle..."

"There has to be more," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "It's the only thing he left me."

"Look, I can take it to the lab, run some tests, if you like."

"You don't have a lab," Mistoffelees deadpanned. "You have a storage unit."

"Semantics," Jerrie answered testily.

"Thanks, Jer," Mistoffelees said, offering the other a charming smile in apology as his phone started ringing. "Hello?" he asked, flipping it open.

"We have a new case," Coricopat spoke without any preamble.

"Great, just promise me it isn't mortgage fraud," Mistoffelees replied. "Because if it is, I sorta figure you don't need to call me early."

"No. It's not. How soon can you be downstairs?"

"Um, soonish?" Mistoffelees offered. "Where we going?"

"A church. A medieval bible's been stolen. I'm pulling up out front in two minutes."

Mistoffelees tried not to crack up. "A church, eh? You must be thrilled. I'll try to be downstairs soon then."

"Oh yes, completely. I'll see you shortly," Coricopat hung up.

Mistoffelees looked the phone over as he drew it away before looking back over to Jerrie. "Duty calls."

"Alright. I'll take the bottle and bring it back to you when I'm finished. I'll wait to leave til you do, though if the suit's close."

"He's close," Mistoffelees nodded. "Still not a fan of the system?"

"The system is designed to keep people in their place. I make my own place."

"That you do," Mistoffelees agreed, going to the wardrobe for a scarf, since the day was chilly and he preferred a bit more protection from it. "Alright, I'll be back later. I'll make sure he doesn't come upstairs or anything. And..." he paused, turning to the other. "Thank you. About the bottle."

"Any time, Misto. I mean that."

"Still, it means a lot," Mistoffelees said, offering him a grin and slipping out.

Jerrie watched him go before carefully picking up the bottle and wrapping it up in some newspaper.

w-w-w-w

Getting out of the car, Mistoffelees looked the church over. "God, that's beautiful," he murmured.

Coricopat shrugged slightly, but nodded, "It is a beautiful piece of architecture."

"Did I say anything beyond that?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back to look at him. "You might want to have that bitterness checked out one of these days."

"I have no idea what bitterness you could possibly mean. Now, let's go see if we can figure out what happened to a priceless bible in a parish full of thieves and cutthroats."

Mistoffelees arched a brow at him, carefully taking his hat off as they walked over the threshold of the church. Coricopat hesitated before following him inside, looking around for the priest.

Bombalurina arched a brow when they entered. "You religious or something?" she asked Mistoffelees, who just arched a brow at her.

"Are you kidding? No. But, I just because I don't believe something doesn't mean I don't have respect for it."

The red haired agent gave him a look. "That respect extend to what you steal from them?"

His eyes turned slightly cold. "I've never, allegedly, stolen from a church, remember?" he returned as the father noticed them and started walking over.

Coricopat looked around, "He's right. Never even allegedly stole from a place of worship."

"So, you only stole from those you didn't respect?" Bomba drawled, and Mistoffelees gave her a hard look.

"Thank you for coming," Father D'Allesio said, stepping up and nodding to everyone in the group. "It means a lot."

The lead agent inclined his head, "Of course, Father. It's a great loss. What can you tell us of the bible?"

"It belonged to the church of Saint Camillus De Lellis in Naples. It was brought here in 1903 and has been the heart of our parish since. Now it's gone."

"Anything unusual that night, Father?"

"Not that I recall," he said and shook his head.

"There were no alarms or witnesses, or signs of a forced entry," Bomba supplied.

Coricopt glanced at her and nodded, "Run the prints against the parish roster. Something tells me we'll get a few matches."

Barelli spoke as he approached, "Nobody from this parish stole the bible."

"Really?" The lead agent looked skeptical, "Your guys are all choir boys, right?"

"There's no surveillance cameras," Mistoffelees remarked, turning where he stood and craning his neck back.

"The Lord sees all," the mafia boss responded, "And that's good enough for us."

Coricopat rolled his eyes and turned back to the priest, "Maybe I'm getting my Saint something-or-others mixed up, but didn't you used to run a soup kitchen here?"

"Not anymore," he replied, voice soft.

"What..." Coricopat stopped, shaking his head and deciding he'd pursue that later if it became important.

"Let me know if I can help you with anything else," the priest said, before turning to go.

"Of course, Father," the lead agent murmured. "We'll do everything we can."

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees sat fiddling with a pen at the table in his apartment. "Who steals a bible?"

Jerrie shrugged from where he was stretched out on the couch, "People steal everything."

"Well, why would _we_ steal a bible? For instance," Mistoffelees offered, tapping the pen against the table, his other hand propping up his chin.

"I dunno," the red head replied, his eyes closed, "They're rare? Or the old ones are anyhow?"

"Naw," Mistoffelees shook his head. "Makes them valuable, but not like other old stuff, not like Picasso valuable. Plus, people get weird about buying stolen religious artifacts, so they'd be hella tough to fence."

"Oh right, the irony of the eighth commandment and all that."

"Thou shall not steal," Mistoffelees murmured. "I wonder how many in our line of work are religious."

"Not many. Superstitious more often. Anyhow, I guess what you steal depends on what's important to people. Did you know that an original Star Trek dome lunchbox goes for six hundred bucks?" Jerrie opened his eyes, tilting his head back so he was looking at Misto upside down over the arm of the couch.

Mistoffelees blinked. "That actually fails to surprise me at all. Alright, different values, whatever. Why steal _this_ bible?"

"Well, you're missing the fact it's famous. It's known as the healing bible."

"Really?" the shorter man asked, tapping his pen still.

"Yep. In 1588 the plague passed through Naples. Father Camillus carried the book into disease stricken ships in the harbor. Not a single person who touched the bible died."

"A nice story," Mistoffelees couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Twenty years later, a blind girl regained her sight when she rescued the book from a fire. I could give you many more examples, if you like."

"I'm sure you could," the shorter man said, tossing down his pen and lounging back in his chair. "So, what if you don't want to sell the bible? What if you steal it because you're a true believer?"

Jerrie rolled onto his stomach to better look at Mistoffelees, "Hey, that's a possibility."

His friend tilted his head. "I feel like a character in a book," he told the ceiling. "True believers? Really?"

"Don't be too skeptical. It's the skeptics in the books that end up in the most trouble."

"I think I've already hit that point, don't you?" his friend returned.

"All the more reason not to make it worse. Though I doubt skepticism about a bible is the worst thing you could do," Jerrie admitted after a moment or two.

"And what would your oh so meta knowledge say is the worst thing for me to do?" Mistoffelees said, turning a smile on his friend.

"Hm...fall in love with the guy who put you in prison. But we're talking worst case scenario here. Beyond that? Breaking a mirror."

Tilting the chair back on one leg, Mistoffelees lost his balance, sending the chair over when Jerrie spoke. "Fall in _what_?" he yelped from his undignified location.

"You asked what the worst thing you could do was. I told you."

"How did you even _come up_ with that?"

"Worst case scenarios. Know them. Prepare for them. Live by them. It's how I keep myself under the radar."

"Still," Mistoffelees said, picking himself back up. "I want to find Pounce. I don't think I'm going to be falling in love with the guy who screwed everything up."

"I know. I'm just saying, that's the worst thing you could do."

"You couldn't think of something else?" Mistoffelees asked. The point had hit too close to home and he was doing his hardest to ignore that fact.

"Worst case, Misto. Worst case. The second worst case is...I dunno, getting shot for something? Or going out of your radius, willingly or not, and ending up back in prison."

"Okay, wait, how is ending up dead or in prison not the worst case compared to falling in love?" Mistoffelees demanded, leaning against the table.

"Because that means you're in love with two people. And one of them's the guy who put you behind bars and is now in charge of your not quite parole?"

"And that ranks above getting shot? Really?"

"Emotionally, yeah."

"I don't know, death," Mistoffelees countered, eyes shuttered close and holding his hands up as if weighing something.

Jerrie looked at him for a long moment, reluctantly conceding, "Okay, death wins."

Mistoffelees paused. "Would it really be so terrible?"

"The guy who put you in _prison_, Misto. And didn't you just tell me you're in love with Pounce?"

"Yeah, but," he shrugged. "God, I'm not saying I _am_ gonna fall in love with him. Ever. Because... no. But why would it be so horrible?"

"He's a suit?" Jerrie offered. Mistoffelees just arched a brow. "Alright, so maybe that's not a good excuse, but...what do you know about him?"

"Probably more than I should? But still," he shook his head.

"Why would it be a good idea?"

"It wouldn't be, which is why I'm not," Mistoffelees said and clapped his hands. "So, true believer then?"

Jerrie nodded firmly, "True believer."

"We'll try that angle," Mistoffelees declared, not quite meeting Jerrie's eyes.

The red-head sighed, "You want me to head out?"

"Stay as long as you like," Mistoffelees replied, pushing his legs off the couch and taking the remote. "But we're not watching one of your cult films tonight."

Jerrie finally sat up, "Aw, but they're classics!"

"Cult classics are not classics," Mistoffelees said. "At least not ones I care for and it is my TV."

"Film snob," his friend muttered. Mistoffelees just laughed, settling back against the couch and trying not to think about falling in love. With anyone.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Mistoffelees blinked blearily at his clock from where he was curled up under his expansive comforter, still closer to asleep then awake. Until his eyes focused enough on the time to realize that he should have been up probably forty five minutes ago, and he couldn't figure out if he'd turned the alarm off in his sleep or simply forgotten to turn it on it the first place.

"Shit," he muttered.

A rapid knock came at the door to the apartment at that moment, startling Jerrie awake. The redhead cursed as he tried to sit up too fast and ended up getting himself tangled in the blanket he'd had draped over him on the couch.

Mistoffelees gave serious thought to just burrowing further under his covers, instead opting to clamber out of bed and stumble to the door, pulling it open in only the sleeping pants he wore. "I over slept," he informed Coricopat.

The agent blinked at him, drawing his eyes up to focus on Mistoffelees' eyes, "So I see. Better hurry and get in the shower, it's best not to keep certain people waiting."

Jerrie froze where he was still untangling himself on the couch at the sound of the second voice.

"I know I know," he muttered, retreating to the small bathroom, walking right past Jerrie.

His friend half reached for him, but stilled as Coricopat stepped inside. He offered the other man a sheepish grin, "Hey."

The brunet looked at him for a long moment, "And you are?"

"A friend of Jenny's?" he tried.

That garnered a singularly unimpressed look, "You have a name?"

"Umm...Yes? Everyone has a name."

"And yours is?" Coricopat asked, tilting a brow.

A name, a name, any name, "Havisham! Dante Havisham."

"You live around here?" the FBI agent asked, looking him over again and taking in details that probably wouldn't make Jerrie happy.

"Just moved in, yeah," the red head mumbled.

The water went off in the bathroom almost as abruptly as it went on, a wet haired Mistoffelees moving quickly from the bathroom to the closet.

"So you're a friend of Jenny's but ended up on Mistoffelees' couch?" Coricopat pressed.

"I...we ended up watching a couple movies, y'know, get to know the neighbors. It got late, figured it was better to stay the night."

"No other guest rooms?"

"Didn't want to wake Jenny. She...she'd gone to bed a while before."

In the closet, Mistoffelees was trying his hardest not to either crack up or have a panic attack. "We're not lovers, if that's what you're thinking," he called out, pulling on a pair of pants.

"I didn't think you'd relegate your lover to the couch," Coricopat called in response. His grey eyes were fixed on Jerrie who shifted under the scrutiny.

"You wouldn't know," Mistoffelees snorted. "Maybe I just like the bed to myself."

"You're too tactile for that," came the reply.

Mistoffelees poked his head around the corner of his wardrobe. "Okay, that's sorta a disturbing comment from you," he said with a small frown.

Coricopat shrugged, "Well it's rather plain to see. You're too touch oriented to kick your lover out of your bed."

"Maybe he pissed me off," Mistoffelees muttered, unsure why he was pursuing that, or resisting the idea Coricopat was right. He ducked back into the closet to pull on a black turtleneck, dispensing with a suit for the sake of speed before trying to tame his thick hair down. Today was definitely going to be a hat day.

Jerrie gave Coricopat a long look. The agent glanced at him, "What? Don't give me that look, I know I've been handed lies since I walked in and him telling me you weren't lovers is so far the only honest thing I've heard."

Mistoffelees let his head rest against the wall a moment, still unsure whether he was going to laugh or crawl back into bed.

Jerrie's eyes widened at that, "I...should probably get going."

"Yes, I think you probably should," Coricopat returned.

The red-head paused, "Mistoffelees, call me, we'll talk later, kay?" Or rather he'd be by later.

"Yes," Mistoffelees replied, walking from the closet, hat firmly in place and masks up. "This evening then?"

Jerrie nodded, "Yeah this evening." With that he grabbed his coat and hurried out.

Mistoffelees watched him go a long moment before tilting his head back to look at Coricopat. "I'm not sure I approve of you being able to just burst into my apartment." It reminded him too much of prison and lack of privacy.

"You didn't close the door the whole way, I figured it was alright to step inside rather than wait in the hall. My mistake."

The shorter man considered him a long moment before giving a small, curt nod. "I'll be clearer in the future," he said under his breath, pulling the door open. "So, any thoughts on that bible yet?"

"Not really. I mean, it's not something one usually sees sold." Coricopat stepped out ahead of Mistoffelees, heading down the stairs, "It's not easy to sell, so why one would steal it I can't imagine."

"Did you do any digging into the history of the bible?" Mistoffelees asked, trailing after him.

"Some, but we've been busily tracking down background on the parish members first."

"Well, historically it's supposed to be a healing bible," Mistoffelees explained. "For example, the 1918 Spanish Influenza swept through New York, killing thirty thousand. No one in the parish even caught a cold."

Coricopat considered that, "Well, then it's possible that whoever took it acutally thinks it's going to heal them?"

"A true believer," Mistoffelees agreed. "It's worth looking into."

"Nobody in the church caught the flu?" The agent looked skeptical as he got into his car.

"Apparently not," Mistoffelees shrugged, sliding inside.

Coricopat started the car, heading it toward the church, "WHy them and not the one down the block? Because of a book?"

"Aren't you Catholic?" Mistoffelees returned.

"Lapsed, remember?" The reply was sharp, testy.

"So you don't think some higher power saved the congregation?"

"I'm more inclined to think they kept their doors shut and loaded up on vitamin C."

"Maybe god works with what he's got," Mistoffelees said with a teasing grin.

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "And God said shut thine door and eat thine oranges?"

"Sure, why not?" Mistoffelees shrugged, holding his hands up.

"Look, when they dug up King Tut, everyone made such a big deal out of the curse of the pharaoh."

"Yeah, because two dozen people who entered the tomb ended up as dead as the mummy," Mistoffelees pointed out.

"Which means they probably caught some old bacterial infection." He pulled to a stop outside the church, "Germs. There's your divine intervention."

"God can't use bacteria?" Mistoffelees asked, looking like he was barely containing laughter.

"I prefer my miracles with a little more smiting and lightning," the agent returned.

"You definitely come from the Catholic tradition..." the shorter man informed him.

"Mhm, shall we go speak to the priest?"

"But screwing with you by playing devil's advocate is so fun," Mistoffelees replied with a grin, doffing his hat as they entered the church. Coricopat rolled his eyes, before looking around for the priest.

The shorter man's grin slipped slightly but returned full force when the priest approached. "Can I help you?" Father D'Allesio asked, voice soft and kindly.

The agent offered him a faint smile, "I hope so, Father. We wanted to check one thing. You didn't tell us your bible was known as a healing bible."

"I didn't realize the information would be relevant."

"Well, it might not be, but we're running down any possibility at the moment. Was there anybody in your church who was a true believer of the healing power?"

"Someone who's ill, or might have a family member or loved one?" Mistoffelees expanded.

"I was afraid this might happen," the priest sighed.

"What?" Coricopat asked warily.

"Mr. Barelli... he... he's discouraged the poor from the church," the father said slowly.

Coricopat eyed the priest, "He made you shut down the soup kitchen, I assume? How Christian of him."

The priest gave him a long look but shook his head slightly rather than argue the point. "The night of the theft, I let a homeless man sleep in the church. His name is Steve."

"Is he sick?" Mistoffelees asked, running a restless hand through his hair.

"No, but someone very close to him is," Father D'Allesio replied.

"Do you know where we can find him?" Coricopat asked, not rescinding his previous statement. The priest nodded.

* * *

><p>Welcome to the latest chapter! We're getting a bit more plot in this one, as they're dealing with another case. We hope you enjoy, and please, please leave a review on the way out! It means a lot to us as authors to get feedback and it keeps the story moving along smoothly. Cheers!<p> 


	8. How Serendipitous

They got directions from the priest and made their way to a park where they found a man and an old black lab. Coricopat spoke quietly, his entire demeanor a good deal softer than it was in the church, "Steve? Hi, my name's Cori. This is my friend Mistoffelees."

The man looked up, still scratching the dog's ears, "Hi."

"Do you mind if we ask you some questions?" When the man shook his head the agent continued, "The church you stayed in last week, they're missing a bible. You know anything about it?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, I took it."

Mistoffelees blinked from the man, his dog, and up to the FBI agent and back to the dog. He sat down on the bench on the other side from Steve, lightly patting the dog. "Can we have it back?" he asked softly.

"I don't have it," the man answered, looking a bit lost at that.

"Where is it?" Mistoffelees asked, shooting Coricopat a look.

"I took it from the church like he asked me to. Now he said that he would show me how to help Lucy get better. Then he took it from me. Now he hasn't brought it back." He looked up at Coricopat, "Do you know where he is?"

The FBI agent sighed, "No, I wish I did."

"Who asked you to take the bible from the church," Mistoffelees said, still petting the dog's ears.

Steve shook his head, turning his attention back to the dog, "Look, he said he would help Lucy get better. She's not getting better, okay? She's getting worse."

"What's wrong with her?" the short man asked, tilting his head.

"She's tired all the time. She don't eat nothing. Now, if I could get that bible back, she'll get better."

Coricopat bit his lip, speaking again, "The man who asked you to take the bible. Did you meet him at the church?"

"Yeah."

Hesitating for another moment, the agent came to a decision, "Steve, if we showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize him?"

"I...I can try. We just need to get the bible back, okay? 'Cause she's fading, all right?" Steve said, looking up at them hopefully.

"We'll do everything we can," Mistoffelees assured.

"She can come with us, right?" Steve asked quietly.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded, not even looking at Coricopat to get his permission.

"If you'll come with us, we have a car just a little ways away," Coricopat murmured.

Rising, Mistoffelees flashed Coricopat a smile for not contradicting him. Steve rose, Lucy following him obediently as they headed back to Coricopat's car.

w-w-w-w

Several hours later, Bombalurina sighed, fluffing her hair absently with one hand as she watched Steve. "You okay to keep going?" she asked, referencing the books of photos in front of him.

The man looked up at her tiredly, "There's more of 'em?"

She took a breath, noticing Mistoffelees and Coricopat walk in. "I'm going to be right back," she said, retreating.

Coricopat was fiddling with the coffee pot as he spoke to Mistoffelees, "Your hunch was a good one. Hope it takes us somewhere."

"Oh ye of little faith," Mistoffelees said with a grin as Bomba reached forward, snatching the coffee pot from Coricopat.

"You've been saving that one," he remarked, turning to Bombalurina. "That bad?"

"That bad was a couple hours ago," she replied.

"Be nice," Mistoffelees murmured and she shot him a murderous glare.

"I'll go see what I can do. Don't kill him while I'm gone, got it?" Coricopat ordered.

"Are we going somewhere?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing up at him as Bomba muttered something darkly.

"I was talking about you," Coricopat replied as he started for the conference room with Steve in it. "You can join me if you would prefer."

"Oh," Mistoffelees glanced at Bomba's expression and nearly stepped on Coricopat's feet as he followed him.

They entered, Coricopat offering Steve a gentle smile, "No luck, huh?"

"No, not- not really. Look, um, I'm sorry I'm not more help to you. My bell got rung pretty good in Fallujah."

"You were in Iraq?" Mistoffelees asked, voice soft.

"Yeah. It's where I found Lucy. We called in this predator strike on this trigger house. Two hellfires came in and just destroyed everything. And I hear this little whimpering, so I lift up this piece of roof and there she was, just wagging her tail."

Coricoapt hesitated before speaking again, "You think you could look at one more book?"

Steve bit his lip and then nodded, "Yeah."

"You're doing good," Mistoffelees tried to assure him as Sonya Vlask stalked in, ordering agents around quickly.

Coricopat looked up, "Excuse me a moment." He stepped to the door of the conference room, "What's going on, sir?"

"Paul Ignazio, Barelli's number two, just turned up dead," Sonya replied before turning to snap something at the other agents to make sure NYPD didn't get ahold of the scene.

"His nephew?" Coricopat glanced at a picture of the man, startling slightly as Steve spoke.

"That's the guy that asked me to take the bible."

Sonya paused, looking at the homeless man and Bomba who stood frozen in shock with the coffee pot still in hand. "Fantastic," he said, running a hand over his face.

Coricopat managed not to swear, glancing at Steve, "Alright, thank you. If you'll stay here with Bombalurina I'll go see what we can sort out."

Bomba scowled at him. "Next time, you're putting Macavity on babysitting duty," she told him under her breath as Coricopat passed her toward the door.

Her boss smiled a bit, "I'll consider it. Get to know the dog. It'll help." Her scowl followed them outside.

Coricopat sighed, glancing at Mistoffelees as they headed for the car, "Great, there went our lead..."

"It's not a cold trail yet," the shorter man replied.

"True. Sooner we get there the better off we'll be."

"Just try not to break any speeding laws," Mistoffelees teased.

Coricopat smirked, "If I needed to hurry I'd see about the siren, which at this rate I might consider."

The shorter man just grinned. "I always liked using a siren."

"Tell me you didn't violate that law too..." The agent muttered.

"Well," he paused and smirked. "Of course I never. I wasn't driving the car after all."

"Of course you never."

Biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees looked down as they reached the car. He really needed to remember not to joke about things involving Pounce.

"You alright?" Coricopat glanced at him.

Snapping his head up, Mistoffelees laughed. "Of course I am," he replied, sliding into the car. "I mean, I just don't like shootings is all."

That earned an arched brow as the taller man got into the car, heading out, "Alright." He turned on the lights to get through the traffic as quickly as possible, pulling up at the pier not long after, seeing it cordoned off, "It might be best if you wait with the car until I see if we actually have the crime scene."

"I'd prefer not to," Mistoffelees replied. "At the very least the waiting in the car bit. If you want me to stick back, I can."

Coricopat hesitated and then nodded, "If you would stick back, that would probably be ideal."

The shorter man sighed but nodded non-the-less. The agent inclined his head and then started for the cordon, ducking under the police tape and pulling on a pair of gloves.

Sonya was already there, looking over the scene. "You wrap this up and have some lunch," he was telling a cop and looked over at Coricopat when he entered.

Coricopat considered the body, frowning and speaking mostly to himself, "That's him. Close range shot."

"There's no eye witnesses either," Sonya added, and looked around before running a hand over his eyes again.

"The body's not waterlogged, so it's fresh then."He knelt down picking up a casing with a pen, "Twenty-five caliber casing. European gage?"

"Please," a voice said behind him, and one could almost hear the eye roll. "It's a twenty two caliber. This is Brooklyn, not Bavaria. Zimmerman, this is a homicide, not an art exhibit. What are you doing here?"

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "You haven't even seen the casing, Ruiz." He straightened and turned around, "I see they let you out of your cubicle."

"This is my show now," the dark haired FBI agent replied. "Where's your pet convict then?"

"I left him in the car with the windows cracked," came the dry answer.

"What are you doing on my crime scene?" Ruiz demanded, not looking amused in the least.

"It tails into my case," Coricopat answered.

Ruiz looked at Sonya, who really looked like he wanted no part in this conversation. "This is mob retaliation," Ruiz said. "It's my investigation now. You don't believe me, ask Vlask about jurisdiction."

Coricopat glanced at their boss, "Sir..."

"Now, don't," Sonya said, holding up a hand and leading Coricopat off to the side. "Don't start with me."

He grit his teeth, "You've got Ruiz running organized crime? That's unbelievable!"

"Every year we offer you the post and you turn me down every year," Sonya replied. "It's not my fault it's not the most capable agent."

"It's not mob on mob, sir. The bible's the key to this," Coricopat ignored the comment about the possible semi-promotion.

"All you have to support that is a homeless man with a sick dog and a spotty memory. What we have here is dead member of the Barelli family and odds are he was killed by the Marettis. That's how it works here."

He drew a deep breath, "Fine. I'll stay out of the active investigation. I just want a look at whatever's on the body."

"It's Ruiz's case. And he's not..." Sonya paused the sigh. "He's not comfortable sharing information with Caffrey."

"Seriously? He's an official consultant. You signed off on him."

"That doesn't mean people aren't going to have reservations," Sonya replied. "And it's his case."

His jaw tensed, "All right. I'll stay out of the case."

"Thank you," Sonya nodded. "You have plenty of cases on your sheet. Let them handle this one."

Coricopat sighed and nodded, heading back to where he'd left Mistoffelees. "Well?" the shorter man asked from where he was leaning against the car. He'd seen the exchange from a distance but had no idea what it meant.

"We've been asked to step down."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's organized crimes' area of expertise apparently."

Mistoffelees frowned. "Can we at least see the file, figure out if it's gonna connect to the bible?"

"No, we can't. Hands off the investigation entirely. Ruiz won't share the case file with me. So I can't do anything."

Mistoffelees' nose wrinkled, even as he wondered if there was more to this than that. "Well, that's dickish of him. Do you think this is a retaliation killing?"

"I don't think Paul would have met a Maretti alone by this river. Not considering all the blood in the water."

"But if he did? If Ruiz is right?"

"Then we're on the edge of a mob war."

Mistoffelees swore under his breath. "So what do we do?" he asked once he was done.

"Well, I can't do much of anything. Like I said, Ruiz isn't willing to share the case file."

"Where's that leave us?" Mistoffelees asked.

Coricopat offered him a long look, "Like I said, _I_ can't do much of anything."

"Oh," Mistoffelees managed and looked around the pier, picking up Coricopat's FBI windbreaker he'd just taken off. "I'm cold. Do you mind?"

The agent eyed him a bit, but shook his head, "No, I don't mind."

Mistoffelees wrapped the coat around his shoulders and looked over the bay. "I hope spring comes soon," he muttered.

"Well, late spring anyhow, if you want warmth," Coricopat responded. "Where are you from originally?"

The shorter man could feel the vertebra in his spine tense one by one, but he otherwise didn't react. "California," he replied easily, the lie simple enough.

That earned an arched eyebrow, but he nodded slightly, "Explains why New York winters are cold for you."

Mistoffelees snorted. "I've never liked the cold," he said, hunching his shoulders slightly and that at least was entirely true.

"I see. Well, we'd better get back I suppose."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said. "Are you gonna need me or...?"

"I'll take you back to Jenny's."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

"Of course, hop in."

Trailing over him, Mistoffelees pulled the jacket closer.

They drove to Jenny's, Coricopat pulling up outside, "I want the windbreaker back tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure," Mistoffelees said, offering him a charming smile. "What, scared I'll do something with it?"

That earned a faint smile, "I never know what you'll do. Try not to though, hm?"

"I promise I won't use it to like, impersonate an agent or something," Mistoffelees said, rolling his eyes and he got out of the car. "But... thanks."

"Good, have a good day, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Offering him a smile free of the strain he was feeling, Mistoffelees closed the door and hoped the steps inside. Coricopat waited until he was inside before pulling away and heading back to work.

w-w-w-w

Jerrie shifted his shoulders, Coricopat's windbreaker just a little tight across them, as he approached Ignazio's house. He reached the entrance and went to duck under the crime scene tape.

"Whoa!" the officer on duty said, snapping to attention. He looked several hours overdo for a shift change. "Where do you think you're going?"

"This is Paul Ignazio's apartment right? I'm Ted Jefferson from the evidence recovery team."

"I don't care which Jefferson you are, I need your ID."

He hesitated, making something up on the spot, "I pulled a double hommie last night. Ah. It's in the van. My- my partner took it to see his girlfriend in Queens."

"That ain't my problem," the officer protested.

"Look, I-I just need a urine swab from the vic's toilet. If I don't get it soon, it will spike the cross reactivity and then-"

"I got orders," the office protested.

"Damn..." Jerrie considered, "Oh, I know! You can get it! It's easy. All you got to do is swab around the rim of the toilet then, drop the swab into the tube, screw the cap on the tube, and bam! We're good to go." He offered the swab kit to the officer.

"No way," the other protested, stepping back and looking horrified.

"Okay. Now it's your problem." Jerrie pulled out his phone and flipped it open, "Hey, Cap, I got a local hero by the name of uh-" He leaned in to check the guy's name and badge number.

"Okay, okay," the officer protested, holding his hands up. "Go get it yourself already, god."

Jerrie suppressed a grin, "Never mind, Cap. Hero's on our side." He stepped past the guy and in to the apartment. He made his way to the back door, opening it for Mistoffelees, "Hey there."

"Any problems getting in?" Mistoffelees asked, snapping a pair of gloves on and working his way around the apartment.

"None. Barney Fife out there thinks I'm swabbing toilets. Figure we've got about ten minutes until he gets curious."

"Is that standard toilet swabbing time?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over the bookcase and bending his knees and leaning back to get a better look.

The red head nodded as he started rifling through the papers on a small desk, "Yes, that's exactly what it is."

Mistoffelees glanced over at him and smirked. "You look pretty nice in that FBI windbreaker. Perhaps you should look into another career path."

Jerrie rolled his eyes at that, "No thanks, I prefer to keep my soul."

"Ah, why'd you need that?" Mistoffelees asked, running a finger down the spine of a book, considering with a small frown. "Paul convinced our homeless guy to steal a bible. And he was researching something... Hundred Years War, the Crusades, Illuminated manuscripts..." he opened the book he'd been considering, flipping through it. "Why is a mob guy researching medieval history? You know the name Maria Fiametta?"

"Because a soul is what separates me from the establishment. And I don't think I know the name." He thought for a moment, "No I definitely don't know a Maria Fiametta."

"She's an art historian, Brooklyn State."

"Well, what do you know? Paul had an appointment at Brooklyn State."

"How serendipitous," Mistoffelees said, holding the book and reaching for his cell phone, hitting Coricopat's number.

Coricopat picked up on the second ring, "Find anything?"

"I could have been calling about something else, but yes, your hunch was right and Ruiz is on the wrong trail."

"And how did you learn this, or do I not want to know?"

"A friend," Mistoffelees replied with a shrug Coricopat couldn't see. The movement was so ingrained to his speech patterns he didn't even think about it.

"The same friend I met this morning?"

"Uuuuuh," Mistoffelees glanced over at Jerrie.

"Tell Mr. _Havisham_ that I appreciate his help," Coricopat emphasized.

Jerrie heard that and paled, his green eyes darting to Mistoffelees' face.

"I'll be sure to pass that along when I see him again," Mistoffelees managed.

"Good. So what did you find?"

"A professor at Brooklyn State. Writes about the black market and all sorts of unsavory types around the world. You can't run with these people without being willing to get dirt under your nails."

"Name?"

"Her name is Maria Fiametta," Mistoffelees replied. "We gonna meet her?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll set up a meeting for tomorrow. Bring my windbreaker, remember."

"Of course," Mistoffelees said. "It's sitting pretty in my sight right now. I won't forget."

"...Right. I will talk to you tomorrow. Good evening, Mistoffelees."

"Night," Mistoffelees murmured into the phone, lingering for a moment before snapping it shut.

Jerrie considered him for a long moment, "Okay, out the back, I gotta head out the front. Meet you around the block, kay?"

"Around the block," Mistoffelees agreed, sliding the book back and heading out the door, slipping his gloves into his pockets. He stopped short several paces away from his meeting place with Jerrie, hearing a small mewing sound.

Jerrie took a couple minutes longer before heading out of the front door, nodding to the officer still on duty and strolling down the block and around the corner before hurrying to meet Mistoffelees. Except Mistoffelees wasn't quite in sight, having followed the sound.

His friend looked around in concern. It was New York, one didn't jsut wander off, "Misto?"

"Hold on," he called out, appearing back around the corner holding a small bundle of pitiful and cold looking fur.

Jerrie blinked at him, "What's that? And where did you find it?"

"It's a cat," Mistoffelees said, sounding offended on its behalf. "And its eyes are barely open."

"You mean someone just dumped it?"

"Yeah, in a cardboard box and everything," Mistoffelees said as the bundle started squirming and he changed his hold slightly.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I can't leave it," Mistoffelees replied as it mewed, clawing at his hands with tiny claws. They weren't large enough to draw blood, but it was leaving his hands scraped up.

Jerrie shrugged out of the windbreaker, "Here, wrap it up in something."

Mistoffelees nodded, hopping Coricopat wasn't allergic to cats as he bundled the kitten up and held it to his chest. Little blue eyes looked up at him and he couldn't help but smile. "Come on, let's get going."

Jerrie followed him, "Cute kitten, what are you going to feed it?"

"Uh," Mistoffelees considered. "Do kittens still drink milk at this point?"

"Looks about that age, but it's not gonna do well with the cow's milk that's in the fridge."

Mistoffelees considered. "Well, I know there's a pet store near Jenny's, in my radius. I'm sure they'll have to have something, right?"

"They should. Should also take the little thing to the vet."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Yeah. Bedding, food, vet, and probably some other stuff," he started ticking off and laughed. "I'm glad the FBI is paying me."

Jerrie grinned at that, "Yeah. Might as Jenny see if she has any ideas."

The shorter man glanced down at the kitten, who peered at the world from the folds of an FBI windbreaker. "I hope her pug doesn't mind..."

"Next thing to check, I guess. Gotta get back to her place to do that first though."

Mistoffelees nodded, finally reaching the block that led to Jenny's.

"Well, I think I'm gonna leave you here, if that's okay?"

"Don't wanna come up?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back.

"I got some stuff I gotta get done today. I'll be by tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees waved him off. "Alright. Good luck on your stuff."

"Thanks. Good luck with the kitten."

Mistoffelees offered him one more smile before taking his latest treasure and heading up the steps to Jenny's, slipping inside and calling for her.

Jenny came out of her library, smiling, "Yes, Mistoffelees?"

He lifted the bundle in his arms, causing the kitten to protest quite loudly. "Well, erm..."

Her eyes widened, "Good heavens, a kitten?"

"It was lost and on its own," he said. "Do you think Skimble would mind having another animal around?"

Jenny shook her head, "We'll let them get to know each other slowly. He'll learn to live with it."

Mistoffelees flashed her a blinding and entirely sincere smile as he set the windbreaker and kitten down on the couch. Peeking its head up, the kitten considered and once it realized it was warm and safe curled up in a little ball, tail flickering over its nose.

"I'll need food, supplies, and probably take it to the vet," Mistoffelees listed off. "Do you know of a vet in two miles?"

Sitting down carefully next to the kitten and gently stroking it's ears she nodded, "There's one that I take Skimble to, about twelve blocks away."

"Think they're still doing walk ins?" Mistoffelees asked, line of his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm sorta curious what gender the little ball even is."

Jenny glanced at the clock, "I think they do walk-ins for another hour. Shall we?"

"If you don't mind of course," Mistoffelees said with a grin. "I could walk but..."

"You most certainly will not be walking. Let me get my coat and purse."

Before she could do that, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You are an amazing woman."

Jenny smiled, "Well, I'm hardly going to let you walk with that poor little thing bundled up in that wind breaker. Find a towel for it."

Mistoffelees grinned, moving to do just that but the kitten swiped at him when he tried to lift it from the windbreaker. "Oh come on," he murmured. "I have to give that back to Cori, or he'll have my hide. You're not allowed to get attached."

Jenny rose, going to find her coat and purse, returning a few minutes later, "Bring it in the windbreaker if need be."

"No," he protested, holding a towel. "I'm serious about it not getting attached. Has to learn hard lessons, hm?" he said, picking up the kitten and holding it under his chin until the small creature calmed down enough to accept the towel.

"I doubt it will have that many hard lessons to learn, Misto. It's a kitten and will certainly be spoiled before the month's out."

Mistoffelees grinned. "Alright, then it can learn one-you can't always stick with the thing you want. But it'll be spoiled in every other way, I'm sure," he said, heading for the door. Jenny shook her head, following him out.

* * *

><p>Mistoffelees: Solver of crimes and savior of abandoned kittens. (Also, after getting very involved in the Avengers fandom, it is very strange to writelook at the name Steve without going "Rodgers?") Sorry for the long lack of updates, but we hope you enjoyed this story! Reviews keep it moving along!


	9. You Wouldn't Dare

A while later, Mistoffelees re-entered the house, the kitten safely in a new carrier, several bottles of food in a bag along with a couple medications and a bed. He even had a list of what he needed to pick up the next day to make the kitten feel really at home, though he seemed to have a good start. The kitten had been examined, declared healthy, and given the first dose of shots.

Jenny closed the door behind them, "Shall we go see about getting this little one settled in then?"

Mistoffelees nodded, heading up the stairs. "Little guy has had a long day after all," he agreed, elbowing open the door to the small apartment.

His landlady entered the apartment as well, "He seems to like you, which is promising."

"I hope so," Mistoffelees said, lifting the kitten and setting it on his shoulder, where the kitten happily curled up. "Huh, I didn't actually expect that to work."

Jenny laughed quietly, "Now just don't move too much."

"That could be a problem," Mistoffelees laughed, petting the kitten between his ears. "You'll need a name..."

"Well, what comes to mind when you see him?"

The kitten mewed when Mistoffelees pulled him off his shoulders and held the small creature out in front of him. "Well, he's a cat, so elegance. And he's in formal dress," he added, bringing the tuxedo kitten back to his chest. "So classy."

Jenny considered, looking around as she thought, "Perhaps after an author?"

"A classy author," Mistoffelees agreed. "So probably British." His eyes strayed over to the small stack of books near his bed that he'd been working on building back up.

She strolled over to the books, looking over the authors, "Well, you have quite a bit of Wilde here."

He tried not to react to that. "Yeah," he said softly. "I really do." He looked down at the kitten again, a soft smile on his face. "Oscar, then?"

"I think that is the perfect name for him, yes."

Mistoffelees grinned, settling on the couch and letting the kitten curl up on his lap. Jenny paused for a moment before sitting down next to him, "Are you doing alright, dear?"

"No," he replied, for once honest to the question. "Do you ever have those days where you really hate it when someone's right about you?"

She nodded, "From time to time. What was someone right about this time?"

"Coricopat, which is icing on the cake," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "Knew Jer wasn't my lover because I am... apparently too tactile to kick anyone out of my bed."

She wrapped an arm around him, "Oh, Mistoffelees... He, Coricopat I mean, from what I've met of him, seem the sort to speak without processing."

"It's not _quite_ what you expect to find in an FBI file is all," he murmured, shifting himself and the kitten into the touch. "I didn't even realize he'd notice. We chased each other up and down New York but we didn't meet that often-it was sorta the point. If I'm that obvious how can I pull off cons or delicate operations? Besides, if he thought I had a lover he might think I wasn't going after Pounce anymore."

"Is it possible he's just focused on it? I don't know why he would be, but I wouldn't say that it's obvious that you're that tactile. Not with just a few encounters, anyhow."

"Why would he be focused on that?" Mistoffelees protested.

Jenny glanced at him and then offered a half shrug, "I don't know."

"You don't know or you just aren't mentioning it?" he mumbled, pressing a bit closer.

"Perhaps a bit of both."

Mistoffelees pressed his shoulder a bit harder against her. "You're not gonna tell me?"

"Not yet, dearie."

He made a dissatisfied noise, petting one of the kitten's ears. "I guess it just made me realize how much I missed touch."

Her hand moved up to comb over his hair in much the same motion, "It happens. You've been without it for rather a long time."

"I suppose," he said. "I just didn't want to hear it and I didn't want him saying it."

"Is there a reason beyond him being...him…that you didn't want him saying it?"

He tried not to sigh. "He put me in prison-he took that away from me. Not to mention Jerrie was saying stupid things about falling in love with him."

Jenny blinked at that, her hand stilling, "Is that a possibility?"

"What?" he blinked at her, tilting his head back.

"What Jerrie said. What made him bring it up?"

"Worst things that could possibly happen."

Jenny shook her head, "Dear me."

"Was that a dear me I agree, or dear me he's off his rocker?" Mistoffelees asked with a tiny smile.

"Dear me, I don't think it was especially a wise thing for him to say," Jenny sighed.

Mistoffelees smiled faintly, settling into the couch, kitten, and embrace. "He has a lot of those moments," he murmured.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Mistoffelees woke up to find Oscar curled up underneath his chin. He spent a few moments petting the small kitten before rising and moving around the apartment, actually awake in time to be mostly ready when the knock came on his door. However, once he'd left the bed, so had Oscar, and the kitten was now perched quite protectively on Coricopat's windbreaker.

Coricopat rapped on the door, waiting for Mistoffelees to answer it. The meeting with the woman at the university had been set for about an hour from the time he was due to pick the other man up.

Mistoffelees paused, heading quickly for the door, not quite ready. "I can't decide whether your clock is ahead, if mine's behind, or if you just like catching me in a state of half dress every morning," Mistoffelees greeted him. "Come in, if you want your windbreaker. You're gonna have to fight for it."

"Fight for it?" He blinked in confusion as he entered the apartment.

Mistoffelees nodded, heading to the bathroom to finish shaving. That garnered an arched brow. Coricopat spotted his windbreaker and moved over, reaching out to pick it up.

He was greeted with hissing as Oscar swiped a paw out from the folds. He yelped slightly, startling back, "What did you wrap in here, a demon?"

Oscar poked his head out, ears back before walking in a circle over the top of the windbreaker and lying down in the middle of it.

"Oscar's not a demon," Mistoffelees protested. "He's a kitten. And I told you you were gonna have to fight for it."

"And now I can see he's a kitten. I all I got before was a hiss and claws." Coricopat hesitated, slowly reaching for the kitten this time, intending to stroke his ears, if he would allow him to.

The kitten glanced up at him, hissing softly again.

He scowled at the kitten, "That's my coat, not yours."

Oscar appeared to disagree, settling more and more into his space on the coat, leaving black and white hairs all over it. Leaving the bathroom, Mistoffelees arched a brow at him. "Are you scared of a kitten?"

"No. I just don't care to go to a meeting covered in claw marks." He considered again and finally gave in, risking his hand to scoop the kitten up, pulling it against his chest and holding it there with one hand as he swept up the coat with the other, draping it over his shoulder.

Mistoffelees laughed as Oscar looked very miffed, mewing and looking up at his abductor.

Coricopat shook his head at the kitten, "No, it's my coat."

The kitten mewed again and Mistoffelees held a hand out. "Are you a cat person then?"

The agent shrugged, handing the kitten over. "I'm not much of an animal person in general, but I don't really mind them."

Taking the kitten, Mistoffelees smiled as Oscar's posture changed, the kitten butting at the short man's chin.

"Are you set?" Coricopat shook out his coat, managing to brush some of the fur off of it.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded, using his free hand to pick up a jacket. "I'll just leave Oscar with Jenny for now."

"Alright, I'll meet you in the car."

Mistoffelees smiled, slightly strained. "Okay," he said softly, waiting for Coricopat to leave before taking the kitten downstairs.

w-w-w-w

Maria Fiametta was waiting for them when they arrived, "You gentlemen are with the FBI?"

Coricopat nodded, "Yes, we were hoping you could help us out on this one. We're working on a stolen bible." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "You have the picture?"

Mistoffelees held it out with a charming grin. "Thank you, Agent...?" She arched a brow at him as she took the photograph.

"Mistoffelees Caffrey," he replied, smile not quite slipping but close. "And I'm not an agent, just a consultant." He preferred to say it himself than have Coricopat point it out.

"Interesting. There's a talented manuscript forger by that name," Marie remarked, offering him a bit of a smile.

"How talented?" Mistoffelees asked, smile bright and charming.

"Oh so you are him?" She offered him a brighter smile, "You're with the FBI?"

"You could call it a work release," he shrugged, breezing past the issue as much as he could.

"I have to ask, is it true that the Vinland map is yours?" she asked, eyes lit up.

"How could it be?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening innocently. "But if it is a forgery, it's quite a spectacular one."

Coricopat cut in before she could say anything, preferring not to tread in those waters, "How about we return to the problem at hand? A pre-Renaissance bible stolen from a church in Brooklyn."

Maria handed the photograph back, "It's beautiful, but it's not a bible."

"It's not?" Mistoffelees asked, looking the picture over again. "Huh, you're right."

"Too small to be a bible," she explained.

"A book of hours then," Coricopat offered.

"Most likely. In the Italian style," Maria agreed.

The agent glanced at Mistoffelees, explaining though he half figured the other knew, "A large prayer book. To show their devotion, monks and nuns had to recite the songs, hymns or chants and specific times all day long."

"Sunday school?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

"Lots of Sundays," Coricopat nodded.

Maria glanced between them, but shrugged, "This is a particularly nice example."

"Paul Ignazio thought so too," the FBI agent replied. "You wouldn't happen to know him?"

"No."

"Show off," Mistoffelees muttered under his breath to Cori before turning back to Maria. "We think Paul Ignazio's the one who stole the book."

"Well, I hope you catch him then," she replied, eyes wide.

"Can't, he's dead," Coricopat reverted to being as blunt as he felt, "Looks like a mob hit, but we're still hoping to figure out who took the book."

"Well, I'd love to know. It's quite beautiful," Maria said.

Withdrawing a business card and handing it to her, the agent nodded, "If you hear anything, or come across someone who's looking to buy or sell something like that-"

"I'll call you."

"It's been a pleasure," Mistoffelees said, offering his hand since they hadn't shaken on meeting.

She shook it, "If you're ever in the mood to discuss medieval manuscripts..."

"You'd be surprised how often I'm in the mood for just that," he replied.

Coricopat shook his head, "Good day, Miss Fiametta."

"Good day, gentlemen. I look forward to hearing from you."

Mistoffelees gave her one last grin before following Coricopat out.

When they left the university, Coricopat turned the car toward Mac's rather than back to Jenny's without really thinking about it. For a while Mistoffelees didn't comment before he finally looked over. "Where are we going?"

"What? Oh, Mac's. I need to talk to him, and it's possible we can see about asking for some leftovers from whatever they had last night."

"You're just taking me over to his house?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

Coricopat shrugged, "He'll protest, but he's mostly just bluster."

"Well that's good to know," Mistoffelees muttered, hunching his shoulders slightly. "So, what was that about left overs?"

"They always have leftovers, and since he wasn't working today there's probably still some in the fridge we can possibly see about mooching for lunch," the taller man replied.

"Huh," Mistoffelees said, looking out the window. The idea of leftovers in the fridge felt so very domestic.

They pulled up in front of Macavity and Griddlebone's house a few minutes later, Coricopat parking the car and getting out, "Well, here we are."

Mistoffelees got out of the car slowly, eyes trailing up the facade of the town house. "Wow," he said under his breath. "How... homely."

"They have a dog and everything," came the dry comment as Coricopat took the steps to the door, knocking sharply on it.

"Good god," Mistoffelees said under his breath, following him.

Moments later, the door opened and Macavity leaned out. "Uh, yeah? Cor? What's up?"

"Needed to hash out the latest possible lead in the missing book of hours case."

"Come on in then," Mac said, eyeing Mistoffelees as he followed Coricopat inside.

"How's your day been, Mac?" Coricopat asked, shrugging out of his coat.

"Slow," he replied with a shrug. "Cooked a cake earlier, stuff like that." Mistoffelees' eyes widened slightly but he quickly suppressed the expression, looking around the obvious middle class and homey house instead.

"How'd that turn out?" Coricopat asked.

Macavity rolled his eyes, gesturing them both to sit down. "Well, it's cooling now."

Coricopat settled onto the couch, "Well, that's good to know. We just came from meeting with a Professor Fiametta about the missing book."

"How'd that go?" Mac asked, echoing Coricopat without meaning to as he let the dog out the back door. He bustled around the kitchen for a moment before coming to lean on the doorframe.

"She's lying about Paul and she's two degrees away from our homeless guy, but I also have trouble buying the fact that an attractive history professor offed a mobster," his friend answered.

"Really?" Macavity asked as the front door opened.

Grids entered, apparently not noticing the three men, her attention entirely on the person on the other end of her phone conversation and her tone sharp, "No, you don't want me to see the missing inventory, because if I come down there, there's going to be a lot more missing than center pieces, you got that?...Good. I'll check back in two hours. I expect to hear better," she hung up.

Coricopat's brows rose, "Okay, maybe it's not a complete stretch."

Macavity grinned, moving forward to kiss his wife on the cheek, before glancing back at Coricopat. "I was wondering when you were gonna realize that."

Griddlebone offered Mac a half-hearted embrace, "Hello all, just having some troubles with my fender."

"No worries, Cor here was just trying to decide if a woman was capable of murder or not," her husband said with a smirk.

"Oh I think so," Grids answered firmly. "What's the problem?"

"Stolen bible, dead mobster," Mac said as something dinged in the kitchen. "Oh, want lunch then?"

"Food's a good idea," his wife nodded. "Are we feeding them as well?"

"Cor shows up at lunch time and it's like a neon sign saying "feed me.'" Macavity replied.

"Which he hasn't done in a while, as evidenced by how thin he's gotten," Griddlebone remarked.

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "I'm right here, Grids."

She smiled at him, "Well, as you've yet to introduce the person I don't know, I wasn't really aware of that. Since I assume you brought him."

"No, I just snuck in," Mistoffelees replied, charming without nearly the same level he'd turned on Maria earlier.

She offered him a smile at that, "Into the home of an FBI agent, are you sure that's wise?"

"He's feeding me, isn't he?" Mistoffelees replied, implying that he was charming enough to get the FBI to feed him rather than shoot him.

That earned a laugh as she extended her hand to him, "Griddlebone, call me Grids."

For a moment he hesitated before taking the hand, giving her a softer and more genuine smile. "Mistoffelees Caffrey," he said softly, as if he wished he could give any other name.

Her eyes lit at that, "Oh _you're_ Mistoffelees. It's good to put a face with that name."

The right corner of his mouth curled up at that, giving her a crooked grin. "It's good to meet you too." When Macavity came out of the kitchen with a casserole, Mistoffelees turned to him. "You have a lovely wife."

"Yeah, I like her," Macavity replied with a smile.

"And evidently she likes him to put up with him this long," Coricopat remarked, rising from the couch.

Macavity rolled his eyes as Mistoffelees trailed toward the table. "Shut up and eat, Cor."

Grids moved over, "So you've got a missing bible and a dead mobster today?"

"Technically," Coricopat answered.

"Meaning?"

"It's a book of hours and the mobster's not our case," he replied after a moment.

"You're a magnet for trouble, I swear," Macavity sighed.

"Well, it's like we're dealing with a shell game," Mistoffelees said, considering the table before crumpling up the receipt from the pet store of the day before and picking up several empty cups.

Grids' brows rose, "Visual aids. Very nice. You guys should use them more often." Macavity shot her a look but didn't comment, watching the conman at work.

"Okay, beige mug is Paul, our dead mobster, and the glass is Steve, our homeless vet and the blue mug is Maria," Mistoffelees said, moving them around. "For some reason Paul," and he moved the cup, "Reads Maria's book and realizes the healing bible's worth a hell lot of cash." He put the receipt under Paul's mug and continued. "But it's also his uncle's pride and joy and he doesn't want to risk Barelli's wrath, so..."

"He has Steve steal the book of hours," Coricopat finished the thought. "Plausible deniability."

"But..." Grids frowned, "If that doesn't work then the homeless guy takes the fall. Well, he's certainly got an evil streak in him."

"Takes the bible from Steve, calls Maria to make the deal and something goes wrong," Mistoffelees said, nodding at Grid's comment.

Coricopat considered, "Deal goes down wrong, or he decides he wants both the cash and the book."

"Paul ends up dead, whatever happens, and the bible goes missing. Steve never even met Maria," he said, knocking over the cup that was Paul.

"And your girl walks away clean with a valuable book," Macavity said, lifting the cup that was Maria, and revealing one of their napkins rather than the receipt. "How did you do that?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Grids reminded her husband with a smile.

"Question is how we get Maria to reveal hers," Mistoffelees said, putting his chin on his hands and considering a moment.

"Well, if I stretch it I might be able to get a warrant to get into her place," Coricopat considered.

Grids shook her head, "If she's smart she won't have that bible anywhere close to her."

"Grids, such a devious side to you," Macavity drawled.

"But she's right, she won't keep the bible that close to her," Mistoffelees shook his head.

Grids kissed her husband's cheek, "Don't cross me."

Coricopat turned his attention to Mistoffelees, "I've got it. She knew who you were. Mistoffelees Caffrey, master forger."

"Alleged," Mistoffelees protested.

"Like hell. We so caught you on forgery," Macavity snorted.

"Of bonds, not medieval manuscripts," Coricopat reminded. "Either way, if she's got the book, it links her to the murder. She's going to want to get rid of it. We've got all the usual challenges locked down. But if she thinks you might be interested..."

Mistoffelees' brows rose and he smiled. "Convince her I'm pliable?"

"Exactly. We find some street contacts, float it out that you're back in business...it could work," the lead agent offered.

"There's no guarantee that'd reach her, and it would take way too long," Mistoffelees shook his head. "Gotta be more direct."

"Why don't you just ask her out?" Grids asked as she dished up casserole for the four of them, setting the plates down in front of each of them.

Macavity and Mistoffelees looked up at her. "What?"

"Well, it gets you an in, probably an invite back to her place. It would give you a chance to talk about the book, offer to buy it, whatever."

"Think she'll say yes?" Mistoffelees asked.

Grids didn't hesitate, nodding, "yes."

Her husband looked over at her and Mistoffelees gave her the crooked smile again. She glanced at her husband, "What?"

"I said nothing," he said, focusing instead on lunch.

She sent Coricopat a look that pretty clearly read _Finish eating and leave, please_. Moments later Coricopat and Mistoffelees were out the door.

w-w-w-w

A while later, Mistoffelees glanced over at Coricopat and down to his phone. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, looking around the FBI offices.

Coricopat shrugged slightly, "We'll bug her place while you're out, and you can put one or more of us on speed dial should there be an issue at all."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, running a hand over his hair before putting his fedora back on and dialing Maria's number.

She picked up on the third ring, "Hello?"

"Hello, Maria? It's Mistoffelees Caffrey?"

"Oh, Mistoffelees! Wonderful to hear from you."

"It's always nice to hear your voice," he replied. "How does this afternoon find you?"

"Passable, that's how. And yourself?"

"With no plans for this evening," he replied, glancing at Coricopat. Coricopat was studiously ignoring the conversation, his attention apparently focused on a file in his hands.

"Well, what a coincidence, it appears I have nothing tonight either..."

"Really? How do you feel about dinner then?" he asked, voice brighter then he was feeling.

Her smile could be heard in her voice, "Dinner sounds great."

He named a restaurant that tended to have a long wait, and was upscale enough he was probably going to have to go to Jerrie for extra cash to cover it. "Perfect, shall we meet there at say seven?"

"I look forward to it," he said, putting as much charm as he could fit into the words.

"Then I shall see you there. Have a good afternoon, Mistoffelees."

"You too," he said, snapping the phone shut and arching a brow at Coricopat.

The agent looked up, "So you have a date then."

"If you can call undercover work a date, yes, I have a date with a stunningly beautiful woman."

"Mm. Well, I suppose that's good then."

The shorter man arched a brow. "Really?" he drawled, voice dry.

"What do you mean 'really'?"

"You suppose that's good then," Mistoffelees teased. "You sound thrilled. Won't this get you closer to solving your case?"

Coricopat nodded once, "Probably."

"So, god, cheer up a little," Mistoffelees said, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes.

"You're going in blind and I'm supposed to be cheery about this?" Coricopat demanded.

"So, you're concerned for me?" Mistoffelees asked, brows going up in surprise.

"Why so shocked by that idea?"

"Seems weird, is all," Mistoffelees replied with a small shrug. "For you to be concerned."

"Why would it be so strange?" Coricopat pressed, grey eyes sweeping over Mistoffelees' features

"Well," Mistoffelees frowned, shifting under that scrutiny. "You're you and I'm me. It's just a matter of sending your agents in to do their job and I hardly expected you to really care what happens considering... the whole work release thing."

Coricopat snapped the file shut, his expression changing and his initial reaction hidden behind a deep frown, "Well, then I'd better see to it that my agents are set for tonight then."

Mistoffelees blinked at the rapid change. "Okay, see, that's more what I would expect."

"What? Never mind." He straightened, heading for the door.

"I don't want to never mind," Mistoffelees muttered.

Coricopat turned, "What do you want me to say then?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "What you're actually thinking?"

"I'm thinking that it's rather suddenly not your business."

The shorter man blinked. "Being concerned about me is suddenly not my business or never minding isn't?"

"What I'm thinking isn't."

"But I'm curious now," Mistoffelees protested, taking a step toward him.

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "And so obviously I must satisfy that curiosity."

"Of course," Mistoffelees replied, before adding, trying to keep it light. "Or I'll give your windbreaker back to Oscar."

That garnered a scowl, "You wouldn't dare." The black haired man just shrugged, holding his hands up innocently. "Fine. Honest answer is I don't want you getting hurt."

That actually brought Mistoffelees up short. "Why not?" he blurted before shaking his head slightly. "I mean, I've done countless things much more dangerous than dinner with a potential murderess."

Coricopat sought through his possible answers, landing on one that wouldn't go well, but that might end the conversation, "You're an asset."

It almost worked. "You don't want to lose an asset," Mistoffelees murmured. "You don't care if they get banged up in the process. But, fine," he said, rising finally.

Years of training kept Coricopat from flinching at that, "Fine?"

"Doesn't much matter, does it? If you don't mind, I need to go pick out a suitable outfit for this evening."

The agent looked away, nodding, "Alright. Good afternoon."

"God, you're so repressed," Mistoffelees muttered, stomping from the office and unsure why he was so annoyed. Coricopat watched him go, frowning, but turned his attention to getting the team set for that night.

* * *

><p>There's a pretty specific reason Mistoffelees likes Oscar Wilde as an author so much and it's not just because VS was taking an Oscar Wilde class while writing this. It will actually show up in the plot later.<p>

Also, Mistoffelees' crooked smile is his real one. Cheers all!


	10. I Think Our Felon is Slightly Smarter

Jerrie knocked on Mistoffelees' door and stepped inside later that afternoon, "Misto?"

"Hey," Mistoffelees said, moving back and forth from the closet to the table, laying out suits and ties and looking dissatisfied with the entire thing.

"So, I want to know if this was an exercise in Schadenfreude? Because you win. It's just a bottle, Misto." His gaze moved to the suits, "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for a date," he replied and stopped midway across the room. "And the lab needs to reexamine its work. It's _not_ just a bottle."

"The lab went over every inch of the thing. Finger prints, chemicals, black light- nothing. I even tested the remnants of the wine left in the bottle. which, by the way, was a very lovely boxed franzia from early October."

"Thank you for that," Mistoffelees nearly growled, not sure he wanted to know what Pounce was drinking out of their bottle before leaving him.

Jerrie scowled at him, "Hey, you wanted to know what I found. That's what I found. In fact, that's all I found."

Pausing again, Mistoffelees ran a hand through his hair, considering the suit and shaking his head, taking it back to hang up. "Then you're still missing something."

"Misto, I ran test after test on this thing, there's _nothing_ here."

"There has to be," he protested. "The only thing he left me? The Morse code? Our story can't be over like this, Jerrie. It's not an ending."

Jerrie finally spotted the kitten and scooped it up, scratching it behind the ears for a moment before sneezing, "Look, maybe you're grasping, Misto. Maybe it was good bye."

For a moment Mistoffelees considered the kitten and the picture the larger man made with the tiny tuxedo before his shoulders sagged as Jerrie's words sank in. "But... it can't be. Not like that."

His friend sighed, "I'll check one more time, but Misto...I don't think there's anything there."

"And you've had no luck actually finding him?" Mistoffelees asked, expression crumpling.

Jerrie moved over, offering the kitten, "Not yet."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees accepted the kitten, who mewed and batted one small paw at Mistoffelees' cheek. "God, why would he just take off like that?"

Jerrie looped an arm around his friend's shoulder, "Maybe you're right. Maybe he's being held against his will. We'll find him, Misto."

"We will," Mistoffelees agreed with a swallow. "I just, did you never talk to him while I was in prison?"

"Not much, not really."

"So no idea what might have caused this?" Mistoffelees asked, focusing on Oscar.

He shook his head, "I didn't know the guy, really."

Still paying more attention to the cat, Mistoffelees smiled faintly. "Never did approve of my lovers."

That earned a ghost of Jerrie's grin, "Well, have you ever liked any of mine?"

"Sure, that one girl, once," Mistoffelees shrugged.

"Oh, right, the one I ended up being unable to stand within three weeks."

"Yeah that one," Mistoffelees said with a grin. "I was real supportive of her." Leaning down, he let Oscar jump onto the couch from where the kitten was squirming. "Alright," he said, squaring his shoulder. "Please help me match a tie to a goddamn suit before I need to go out tonight."

w-w-w-w

That evening, Mistoffelees settled down across from Maria, offering her that charming smile that wasn't at all like the crooked grin he'd given Griddlebone. He raised a wine glass out to her. "To history, old and new."

She tipped her glass to him, seconding the toast. "So, how does an FBI agent get a table here? It's a six month wait."

"Well, an FBI agent wouldn't have gotten it," Mistoffelees replied, taking a sip. "I had a previous life after all, and plenty of charm."

That earned a smile as she sipped at her wine, "That's right. Do you believe in reincarnation then?"'

"You could say that," he replied. "But what about you? Any previous lives?"

"Not really, same as I've always been. Though the old me has nineties hair."

"I don't believe it," he returned, taking another sip of the wine. "Here," he said, setting the glass down and reaching a hand out. "Let me see your lifeline, to fill in those blanks."

She arched a brow, but held her hand out, "You aren't honestly going to read my palm right now, are you?"

"Why not?" he said, flashing her another grin. "Hm, calluses. Not afraid to get dirty then?"

"Very true. What else do you see?" she smirked slightly.

"No ring," he replied, "And no signs of there ever being one."

She closed her hand and captured his, "No ring for you either."

"No," he said, voice dropping and his eyes shutting off for a moment before he wrenched himself back into the moment. "Prison got in the way. Besides, it was illegal back then."

"Ill-Swing both ways then?"

He smiled. "You could say that. Equal opportunity, or that I like seeing things from all sides."

She returned the smile, "Very good to know. It must be strange now. What with working for the FBI and all."

"It's just a different side to see things from," he shrugged. "Besides, it's nice to read from the other team's playbook."

"The other team? Here I thought you were out of the game."

"Oh, I am," he assured, his grin belaying that statement entirely.

She considered him for a long moment, "Have you found your missing bible?"

"You know anyone who wants to buy one?" he asked, leaning in, and trying not to think about the FBI agents who were probably bugging Maria's apartment right now.

Maria leaned a bit nearer, "Maybe. Looters approach me all the time. So do buyers. It's rather an attractive offer."

"I'm sure it must be," Mistoffelees murmured, leaning closer.

She smirked, offering him one of the menus, "What do you say you surprise me tonight?"

"You sure?" he asked with an arched brow, accepting the menu. "I might order something you don't like and then where would we be?"

"I trust you. After all," she sat back, "you work for the FBI."

"More wine?" he offered, trying to ignore the entire issue of trust, and especially that of the FBI.

"You read minds as well as palms now?"

"The question is, do you?" Mistoffelees returned with a grin.

"Sometimes," Maria replied.

With another flash of his grin, he turned his attention to the menu. Their dinner passed in amicable conversation and flirtation and in the end Maria invited him back to her place as hoped.

Mistoffelees smiled, following her into her apartment, glancing around and hoping that the FBI had gotten and messed nothing up.

"Some wine?" She offered with a smile.

"More of it?" he grinned, leaning his hips against a counter. "Why not?"

"So, what shall we talk about then?" She moved over to pour some wine, her gaze flickering over the table.

"Well, there's the story of the two spies," Mistoffelees said, elbows moving back against the counter.

"Which one?" she asked, pausing for the briefest moment as she saw that her cup of brushes was off of the ring it had left in the dust, but a good inch.

"A French Duke and Italian Count. They were sworn enemies who spent the entire year trying to outwit each other, but on New Year's they got to ask a question the other had to answer truthfully," Mistoffelees continued the story, watching her.

"The trick was asking the right question, because you might never get another chance," She replied with a smile.

"I always thought honestly is a more challenging game," Mistoffelees grinned.

In the FBI van outside the apartment building, Macavity blinked. "Honestly is a more challenging game? Geez, how come none of my dates had ever gone this way?"

"Because you don't say things like honesty is a more challenging game," Coricopat muttered.

"Because no one talks like that," Bomba huffed.

"They do in his world," came the almost sulky reply.

Both Bomba and Macavity glanced at him. "You jealous?" Bomba asked.

Coricopat looked at her, "Jealous?"

"You sound sulky about something-wishing you had his moves or wishing he'd talk to you like that?" Bomba asked.

"Wishing we weren't stuck in this surveillance van while a former felon and a probable murderer are sipping high quality wine."

"So you're jealous of something," Macavity laughed.

"You two are insufferable. I'm finding someone new for my stakeouts," their boss replied testily.

"Like who? Vlask?" Macavity returned. "You'd just be stuck drinking bad coffee all night."

"I'm sure I can find someone," Coricopat muttered.

Bomba rolled her eyes, going back to listening to the tape intently.

Maria offered Mistoffelees a smile raising the wine bottle, "The wine needs to breathe. I'm going to get a decanter. Why don't you put some music on?"

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked, moving over to where he could see a player set out.

She left the room, calling over her shoulder as she entered her security room, "Oh you know!"

"Surprise you?" he asked, arching a brow at her music selections.

"Exactly." Her attention was fully on the screens in front of her, rewinding the right tape until she saw Bomba and Macavity placing the bug in her living room.

Mistoffelees fiddled with the player for a while, finally choosing something with a jazz flavor, looking around the room. There was no way a college professor could get all of this just off their salary.

Maria returned, offering Mistoffelees a glass of wine, "Good choice of music."

"Glad you approve. At least this time I knew I couldn't go wrong, since it's all yours," he replied, accepting the wine.

That earned a smile, "So, what do you think of the manuscript I'm working on?" she motioned toward her worktable.

He arched a brow, carefully taking the wine with him and leaning over one of the bibles. "It's stunning work."

"I agree." She leaned over as well, whispering in his ear, "You know what? I don't trust you."

"Smart," he said, turning his face closer to her's. A movement on either of their parts and they would be kissing, but there was an entirely different tension between them. "I wouldn't trust me either."

She considered him, still murmuring, "Let's play the spies' game. I'll ask you a question."

"And I have to tell the truth?" he asked.

"And you have to tell the truth."

"Then you better ask the question," he said, tilting his head slightly.

"Which Mistoffelees Caffrey are you? Are you working for the good guys, or are you working a bigger game?"

He considered a moment before stepping back and tagging the bug left in her pot, dropping it into his wine glass. She blinked in surprise at that action.

"That answer your question?"

"Maybe it starts to," she admitted.

"Look," Mistoffelees started speaking, rapid fire. "The feds linked the bible to Paul Ignazio and you to him through his visits to the college. Maria, look at me. I'm living proof if the feds want something from you, they turn your life inside out to get it. They'll tell Barelli you have his book."

"Even if I don't?"

The smaller man shrugged. "I can get you two hundred fifty thousand in two days. Which is better than you can get dead in or prison. With the FBI and the mob on you, you won't be able to move it. I can."

"The other team's playbook..."she considered, "If I shouldn't risk it, why are you? Won't they send you back for good?"

He pulled his pant leg up slightly, gesturing down. "I'm already in prison."

"Then we might be able to deal," Maria finally nodded.

"Good," he said with a grin, trying not to think about the panic that was probably happening in the van outside.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Sonya considered Ruiz and Coricopat in one of the meeting rooms at the office. "How did you know she was in on it?"

"Lucky hunch," Coricopat answered.

Sonya looked far from impressed. "Hmmm... Ruiz?" he turned the other agent, who looked a little shame faced.

"I checked Paul's credit. He wired ten Gs from a shell corporation in Gibraltar. Owned by... well, your professor."

Coricopat managed not to smirk at that, "The hunch panned out. She has the book, and I'm sure she's the killer."

Eyes going heavenward, Sonya nodded. "Don't bitch at each other, boys. Now, how'd last night's fishing expedition go?"

"Well..." Coricopat sighed, "We had a bit of an equipment failure. But, Caffrey says she has the book. She'll sell, but only to him."

"Of course he'd say that," Sonya sighed. "What're the terms?"

"Two fifty. Wired to a Swiss account."

"No way!" Ruiz cut in. "What if he cuts a deal with her and runs off with the money?"

Coricopat's eyes narrowed, but he replied calmly, "What choice do we have?"

"Not much of one," Sonya said. "I don't want another body washing up. We'll send the cash to a dummy account."

"That's risky. What if she takes a shot at Mistoffelees?" Coricopat protested.

"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Ruiz huffed as Mistoffelees walked in.

"Morning, gentlemen," he drawled. "Everybody sleep well?" His tone was mild, but his stance and eyes belayed that entirely.

Coricopat smiled thinly at Ruiz, looking like he wanted to strangle the other, before he turned to Mistoffelees, "Well enough. We need to talk, my office."

"Sure," Mistoffelees said, offering him a charming grin. Usually he didn't bother in the FBI office; he was looking obviously rattled for first thing in the morning by using it.

The taller man considered that before he turned and led the way to his office, waiting until they were closed inside, "Everything alright?"

"Perfectly," he said, grin still in place.

The other didn't look like he quite believed him, but let it slide, "Are you going to be alright with conducting an exchange for the book?"

"Sure," he said, rolling a shoulder. "Am I cutting the anklet?"

"You're going to have to if you're to convince her..."

"Your heart gonna be able to handle that?" Mistoffelees asked, looking at him through half lowered eyes.

Coricopat stiffened slightly at that, "Why wouldn't it?"

"I meant the whole heart attack thing you're going to be dealing with while I'm off your GPS."

"I've caught you before, I can do it again if I have to. We'll make sure she doesn't do anything. Just try not to get shot, hm?"

"Not like anyone's going to lose sleep there," Mistoffelees said, plucking a pen off Coricopat's desk and playing with it.

The agent gaped at him for a moment, "Come again?"

The shorter man just shrugged.

"Do you really think we hold your life so cheaply?"

"Some people certainly do," Mistoffelees returned, not adding that everyone who didn't say it explicitly seemed to believe it just as well too.

Coricopat sighed heavily, "Fine. Just try to be careful."

"What's the plan then?" Mistoffelees said, expression shut off.

"We're placing the money in an account from Caymans First National. You'll meet with her, let her take you to the drop, and I'll e-mail you the pin for the account right before the buy."

"First they're sending me back to prison," Mistoffelees remarked, still looking at the pen. "Tomorrow they're giving me a quarter of a million tax payer dollars in an off shore account. I guess that shows how much faith they have in you, huh?"

"And how much I have in you," Coricopat replied quietly.

Mistoffelees' eyes flickered up and back down, expression suddenly unsure.

"Just be careful. And prove them wrong."

Biting his bottom lip, Mistoffelees finally nodded. "I'll look into doing so."

"I think there's some files and things if you'd like something to go over?"

The smaller man just shrugged. "Not really? But sure."

"Or books, either way I have some things I need to do at this point."

"Sure," Mistoffelees murmured, moving away from the desk to leave the office.

"I..." Coricopat nodded and let him go, settling in his chair to get some work done.

Macavity walked in shortly therefore, looking Coricopat over. "Lucky tie today?"

Coricopat glanced up, "Mistoffelees making that buy later today, remember?"

"We're giving him money? No wonder you're wearing the lucky tie."

"We're not that stupid. It's a fake wire transfer," Coricopat turned his attention to his computer screen.

"Then why are you so worried?" Macavity asked, crossing his arms over his chest and the files he had with him.

"He has to convince her he's working for us, which means cutting his anklet. For real. He...could run with that book."

That got an arched brow from the dark skinned agent. "So you have more faith in that ratty tie then Mistoffelees?"

"This ratty tie's never forged a priceless map of Vinland," it wasn't the primary concern he had, but it was a close second.

"And you find it hard to believe he'd gonna do the right thing?" Macavity asked, finally setting the files on Coricopat's desk.

"It's not his first instinct."

"Trust isn't yours is it?" Macavity asked, well aware it was not.

"Occupational hazard. What if we can't manage to keep an eye on them?"

"Then he'll come back," Macavity said with a shrug.

"Or get himself shot," Coricopat muttered.

"You worried about him getting shot?" Macavity asked, arching a brow.

"She's killed once already for this book, what's to stop her doing it again?"

"I think our felon is slightly smarter than that," Macavity said with a shrug. "With a really big self preservation streak."

"And so I should stop worrying?"

The taller man just shrugged. "Maybe not."

"I'll be fine once this is all finished."

"Great," Macavity said, not quite rolling his eyes but heading for the door. "Then let's get it finished already."

Coricopat rose, "Go let Ruiz know we're set." He headed down the stairs to let Mistoffelees know.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees stood on a street corner, looking both ways, hands in his pockets. Maria pulled up a couple minutes later, getting out of her car, "Hey."

Offering her a smile, Mistoffelees stepped forward, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "We have a chaperone," he whispered. "White van over my left shoulder."

She glanced in that direction before smiling, "Well, then we'll have to be careful."

"Indeed we will," he said, moving his hands to her waist. "If you don't mind, I believe this is the junction when a pat down would be appropriate?"

"Only if I can reciprocate."

"Ladies or men first?" he asked, smirking into her hair.

"After you," she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Grinning, he skidded his hands down her sides and felt along the line of her skirt, patting down anywhere she could logically hide either a bug or weapon. She returned the expression, leaning into a couple of his touches, "My turn."

Still smirking, he leaned back, considering what exactly this would look like to the agents in the van. Maria ran her hands carefully over his body, checking for weapons or wires, shoulders to heels. Finally stepping back she smirked at him, "No bugs, where's my money?"

He waved his phone. "Where's my book?"

She looked down at his ankle and headed for the driver's side of her car, "You ready?"

For a moment he wavered, looking toward the van before meeting her eyes. "If I cut the anklet, they're going to be onto us. Think you can lose that van?"

"I've been chased by the Carabinieri, drug cartels in Bogota-"

"I get it, you're good," he said, holding a hand up before leaning down and snipping the anklet with a pair of cutters he'd brought just for the occasion.

She got into the car, waiting until he was in before pulling away and taking off, intent on losing the tail, "With all due respect, we could make quite a fine pair."

"With all due respect, shut up and drive," he replied.

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the road.

Shortly they ended up at a lake front, Mistoffelees getting back out. "Can I see it yet?"

She got out, going to the trunk of the car and opening it, "I can't believe I'm doing this. I spent a long time looking for her..."

He snapped a pair of gloves on, taking the book, and looking through it to verify. "Guess it wasn't meant to be," he murmured, flipping pages.

"You satisfied?"

"Very," he said, closing the book and using his free hand on his phone, sending the money.

She pulled out her phone, "Ah, and there it is. Thank you very much."

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said with a small bow, moving to leave.

"Mm. You'll never know how much of a pleasure it could have been," Maria responded, pulling a gun.

Mistoffelees' spine tensed, and he leaned back slightly. "You know, I had a feeling all the lovey-dovey stuff was bullshit."

"You should learn to trust your instincts."

"You know, you think I would have," he murmured, pulling something from his pocket. "But I did lift your clip with patting you down."

She cocked the gun, "You forgot the one in the chamber."

"I hate guns," he breathed, taking a step back and holding the book in front of his chest. "That still only gives you one bullet."

"That's all it takes," came the reply. "Give me the book, Mistoffelees."

"No," he said, holding the book up. "Is this why you killed Paul?"

"He wanted the money and the book!"

"Yeah, that's what happens when you get greedy!"

She fired, the same second the FBI finally showed up on scene. Mistoffelees dropped.

Coricopat was out of the car, gun drawn in an instant, "Drop the gun! Gun down, don't shoot. Gun _down_, hands behind your head!" Maria followed his directions, swearing under her breath as she was cuffed. Once he saw she was being dealt with, he holstered his weapon and rushed to Mistoffelees' side, "Mistoffelees?"

The shorter man blinked up at him. "Cutting it a little close there, aren't you?" he asked, holding the book in front of his chest still, were a bullet was lodged in the head of the saint on the cover.

Coricopat offered him a hand up, "Looks like someone had your back. What did I say about getting shot?"

"I think you said not to," he said. "And I lifted the clip. So she only had one chance anyway."

The taller man shook his head, "One chance. Great, that vastly improves the odds of her not hitting you."

"Still here, ain't I?" he asked, grin crooked.

"Because you have the best luck of anyone I've ever met."

"Maybe," Mistoffelees said, looking over as Barelli showed up on the scene. "But it's certainly proved useful."

"Well, I need to go run some interference." Coricopat turned as Barelli approached, "How did you and your cub scouts find out about this? NYPD?"

"I got one of those police scanners. It's a hobby, ya know?" The mobster's gaze moved to where Maria was being put in a car, "She Paulie's shooter? A lover's quarrel?"

"Just business," the agent replied. "Hate to break it to you, your nephew decided to free lance behind your back."

"Sad," Ruiz remarked. "You can't trust family then who can you trust?"

Barelli ignored them, "If you guys're done, I'd like my bible back. Mass starts in an hour."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "Would it kill you to say thank you? All right, give it to him, Mistoffelees."

"I don't have it," Mistoffelees said, looking between them.

"What do you mean you don't have it?" Coricopat blinked at him, "You just had it in your hands."

"I handed it to an FBI agent," Mistoffelees said with a tiny shrug. "That's what I was supposed to do, right?"

Barelli scowled, "You think you can get it over on me? You'll wish you were never born, pal."

"I'm getting that speech a lot lately," Mistoffelees replied, meeting the other's eyes.

"This ain't over," Barelli growled.

"Where is it, Caffrey?" Ruiz seethed. "Or I'll let Barelli give you a ride home."

Coricopat cut in, "I think I may know where it is." Mistoffelees took a shuddering breath at that threat from Ruiz, glancing over at Coricopat. "I'll take Mistoffelees with me, Barelli, you're welcome to follow."

Mistoffelees took a step closer to Coricopat, feeling tired and worn out and relieved when Barelli nodded his assent to that.

They pulled up in front of Barelli's church a short while later, Coricopat getting out and heading inside to find Steve there with Lucy and the bible.

Steve looked up and smiled serenely at all of them, petting his dog. Barelli strode in, his eyes narrowing, "Hey, pally. What are you doing with my bible?"

"She would've died without it," the man explained.

"Not so fast. You know who you're messing with?"

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "You've got the bible, Barelli. Leave him alone."

"No. I'm not about to let this go." He stopped as Lucy got up and licked his hand, wagging her tail slowly. His entire tough guy persona seemed to crumble and he knelt down, rubbing her ears, "Hey, sweet girl."

"Her name's Lucy," the veteran said proudly.

"Lucky Lucy, huh. She don't look so good. Whatsa matter with her?"

"She's been sick," Steve explained as Mistoffelees looked over at Coricopat. "Until today." The agent was staring at the scene, his brows raised.

Barelli rocked back on his heels before getting to his feet, "I got a vet over in Yonkers. He saved my pugs from diabetes. You wanna take a right and go see him? Have her checked out."

"Kay," Steve said, nodding happily.

"Come on then," Barelli headed out to his car with Steve and Lucy, leaving a very confused Agent Zimmerman behind with Mistoffelees.

"We were giving the bible back," Mistoffelees said.

"I know."

"How'd you know?" the shorter man asked, tilting his head.

"Alright, I didn't. But I took a leap of faith that you did the right thing."

"I told you it's a healing bible," Mistoffelees said with a charming grin.

"And here we go again..." Coricopat shook his head, "Barelli's just a softie for dogs."

"Not enough smiting and lightning for you?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

"It's not a miracle. No Red Sea was parted here."

"I'll take my miracles where I can get them," Mistoffelees replied.

"Right, well then you can call it a miracle if you're so inclined." A couple of other agents arrived at that moment with a new tracking anklet for Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees sighed, meeting Coricopat's eyes. "I didn't get shot, and I didn't run away. Are you taking that or is there still not enough smiting and lightning?"

Coricopat shrugged slightly, "I might take it if I didn't think you had a decent self-preservation streak."

Mistoffelees sighed and smirked. "Really now?"

"I like to think so, anyhow," he replied as one of the agents reattached the anklet.

Mistoffelees glanced down and back up. "Well, back to the ball and chain."

"Long chain," Coricopat reminded. "Shall I take you back to Jenny's or the Bureau?"

"Is there a reason to go back to the Bureau?"

"Not that I can think of, for you. I'll drop you at Jenny's on the way."

"Great," Mistoffelees murmured.

w-w-w-w

Later in the evening, Mistoffelees was turning the bottle at the table. Several candles lay around, lit to give the room a more romantic atmosphere.

Jerrie was stretched out on Mistoffelees' couch, asleep, Oscar curled up on his chest, his hands cradling the kitten.

As he was turning the bottle, one of the flame started heating up the paper. Slowly, lines started being revealed and he froze. "Jerrie!"

The redhead startled awake, "Let me see your warrant!" He came fully awake as the alarmed kitten on his chest dug its claws in, "Ow, damnit. What is it, Misto?"

The shorter man just arched a brow at him. "Come here, you," he said, gesturing. "Lemon juice and candle light."

Jerrie scooped up the kitten, smoothing Oscar's ruffled fur as he came over, "How did I miss this?"

"Weren't you ever a boy scout?"

"I got kicked out. Pinewood derby, magnets. It was a whole big thing."

Mistoffelees gave him a sideways look. "I don't even want to know."

"It was a great race, but they figured it out. Stopped doing things that'd get me caught after that. So. The bottle. A map?"

"It's a map," Mistoffelees nodded. "New York City subway."

"Great, so you have a map of a huge subway system. What good is that?"

"I don't know yet," he said, grinning up at his friend. "But I'm going to find out."

Jerrie offered him a ghost of a grin in response as he cradled the kitten a bit closer, still stroking its fur, "I'm sure you will."

Mistoffelees looked between the purring kitten and Jerrie. "Find allergy medication or something?"

Jerrie looked at the feline, "No," he was sounding a bit stuffy, "I'll be paying for this tomorrow."

"I'm glad you're getting along, seeing as you're here so often," Mistoffelees said, looking back at the bottle where he'd gotten the entire map exposed.

"I like the kitten. We'll see if I like the cat."

That startled a laugh from Mistoffelees. "It's gonna be the same creature."

"Except with bigger teeth, bigger claws, and a bigger pelt to produce dander."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Mistoffelees said as Oscar purred. The dark haired man was already distracted by the bottle again.

Jerrie finally sneezed, jolting the kitten slightly, "You're not allowed to ignore the kitten."

"I'm not?" Mistoffelees asked, not even looking over.

"No. I'm allergic and I don't think the suit likes cats. Jenny ahs the pug. So you can't ignore him."

"I'm..." Mistoffelees frowned, looking up at Jerrie. "You make it sound like I'm abandoning him in an alley."

"I don't mean to sound like that, you just get...focused."

"Well, yeah," Mistoffelees said. "The kitten can survive a little while on his own."

Jerrie didn't look impressed, but he shrugged, "Alright."

"Here," Mistoffelees said, setting the bottle down and taking the kitten, who rubbed up under his chin. "Feel better?"

Jerrie nodded, "Yes, that's much better."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, kissing the top of Oscar's head when the kitten batted at his cheek.

"It's a cute cat."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, eyes straying to the bottle over the squirming ball of fur he still held.

* * *

><p>As a heads up, this is the last chapter of this fic to be posted to this site. Your author's are packing up over to AO3 (Archive of Our Own). We can be found under victoriousscarf or Meadowlark4491, and this fic is posted over there under the same name as is most of our stories. ((I usually like giving 2 chapters warning but this wrapped up an arc too neatly.)) Hope to see you all on the other side.<p> 


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